THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


Iffilliam  B.  Vasels 


THE   WRONG   BOX 


THE  WRONG  BOX 


BY 


ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


AND 


LLOYD  OSBOURNE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1898 

[All  rights  reserved] 


C0P\'RICHT,    1889,    BV 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


TB0W9 

MINTfNQ  ANb  eOOKBINOINQ  COMPANT, 

HEW  TOHK, 


\      :  rr 


PREFACE. 


"Nothing  like  a  little  judicious  levity,"  says  Michael 
Finsbury  in  the  text :  nor  can  any  better  excuse  be 
found  for  the  volume  in  the  reader's  hand.  The 
authors  can  but  add  that  one  of  them  is  old  enough 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  and  the  other  young 
enough  to  learn  better. 

E.  L.  S. 

L.  O. 


8523P'> 


»/Wi«^ 


OOISTTEJ^TS. 


CHAPTER   I. 


FAOB 

In  which  Morris  Suspects, .1 


CHAPTER   II. 
In  which  Morris  takes  Action, 19 

CHAPTER  in. 
The  Lecturer  at  Large, 39 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Magistrate  in  the  Luggage  Van,     ....    54 

CHAPTER  V. 
Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  and  the  Gigantic  Box,  .        .        .    60 


Vi  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   VI. 
The  Tribulations  op  Morris  :  Part  the  First,      .        .     73 


CHAPTER  VII. 
In  which  William  Dent  Pitman  takes  Legal  Advice,      92 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
In  which  Michael  Finsbury  Enjoys  a  Holiday,     .        .  107 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Glorious  Conclusion  of  Michael  Finsbury's  Holiday,    .  132 

CHAPTER  X. 
Gideon  Forsyth  and  the  Broadwood  Grand,         ,        .  152 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Maestro  Jimson, 164 

CHAPTER  XII. 

PosmvELY  the  Last  Appearance  of  the  Broadwood 

Grand, 185 


CONTENTS.  vii 


CHAPTER    Xin. 

PAGE 

The  Tribulations  of  Morris  :  Part  the  Second,  .        .  198 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

William  Bent  Pitman  Hears  of  Something  to  His  Ad- 
vantage,        211 


CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Return  of  the  Great  Vance, 230 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Final  Adjustment  op  the  Leather  Business,         .       .  239 


THE   AVRONG  BOX. 


CHAPTER   I. 

IN   WHICH    MORRIS    SUSPECTS. 


How  very  little  does  the  amateur,  dwelling  at  home  at 
ease,  comprehend  the  labors  and  perils  of  the  author,  and, 
when  he  smilingly  skims  the  surface  of  a  work  of  fiction, 
how  little  does  he  consider  the  hours  of  toil,  consultation 
of  authorities,  researches  in  the  Bodleian,  correspondence 
with  learned  and  illegible  Germans — in  one  word,  the 
vast  scaffolding  that  was  first  built  up  and  then  knocked 
down,  to  while  away  an  hour  for  him  in  a  railway  train ! 
Thus  I  might  begin  this  tale  with  a  biography  of  Tonti — 
birthplace,  parentage,  genius  probably  inherited  from  his 
mother,  remarkable  instance  of  precocity,  etc. — and  a 
complete  treatise  on  the  system  to  which  he  bequeathed 
his  name.  The  material  is  all  beside  me  in  a  pigeon-hole, 
but  I  scorn  to  appear  vainglorious.  Tonti  is  dead,  and  I 
never  saw  anyone  who  even  pretended  to  regret  him  ;  and 
as  for  the  tontine  system,  a  word  will  suffice  for  all  the 
purposes  of  this  unvai'nished  narrative. 


ti  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

A  number  of  sprightly  youths  (the  more  the  merrier) 
put  up  a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  is  then  funded  in 
a  pool  under  trustees  ;  coming  on  for  a  century  later,  the 
proceeds  are  fluttered  for  a  moment  in  the  face  of  the  last 
survivor,  who  is  probably  deaf,  so  that  he  cannot  even 
hear  of  his  success — and  who  is  certainly  dying,  so  that 
he  might  just  as  well  have  lost.  The  peculiar  poetry  and 
even  humor  of  the  scheme  is  now  apparent,  since  it  is  one 
by  which  nobody  concerned  can  possibly  profit ;  but  its 
fine,  sportsmanlike  character  endeared  it  to  our  grand- 
parents. 

"When  Joseph  Finsbury  and  his  brother  Masterman 
were  little  lads  in  white-frilled  trousers,  their  father — a 
well-to-do  merchant  in  Cheapside — caused  them  to  join  a 
small  but  rich  tontine  of  seven  and  thirty  lives.  A 
thousand  pounds  was  the  entrance  fee  ;  and  Joseph  Fins- 
bury  can  remember  to  this  day  the  visit  to  the  lawyer's, 
where  the  members  of  the  tontine — all  children  like  him- 
self— were  assembled  together  and  sat  in  turn  in  the  big 
office-chau',  and  signed  their  names  with  the  assistance  of 
a  kind  old  gentleman  in  spectacles  and  Wellington  boots. 
He  remembers  playing  with  the  children  afterward  on 
the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  lawyer's  house,  and  a  battle 
royal  that  he  liad  with  a  brother  ton  tin  er,  who  had  kicked 
his  shins.  The  sound  of  war  called  forth  the  lawyer  from 
where  he  was  dispensing  cake  and  wine  to  the  assembled 
parents  in  the  office,  and  the  combatants  were  separated, 
and  Joseph's  spirit  (for  he  was  the  smaller  of  the  two) 


IN    WHICH    MOKRIS    SUSPECTS.  6 

commended  by  the  gentleman  in  the  Wellington  boots, 
who  Yowed  he  had  been  just  such  another  at  the  same 
age.  Joseph  wondered  to  himself  if  he  had  worn  at  that 
time  little  Wellingtons  and  a  little  bald  head,  and  when 
(in  bed  at  night)  he  gi-ew  tired  of  telling  himself  stories  of 
sea-fights,  he  used  to  dress  himself  up  as  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  entertain  other  little  boys  and  girls  with  cake 
and  wine. 

In  the  year  18-40  the  thirty-seven  were  all  alive ;  in 
1850  their  number  had  decreased  by  six ;  in  1856  and 
1857  business  was  more  lively,  for  the  Crimea  and  the 
Mutiny  carried  off  no  less  than  nine.  There  remained  in 
1870  but  five  of  the  original  members,  and  at  the  date  of 
my  story,  including  the  two  Finsbui-j's,  but  three. 

By  this  time  Masterman  was  in  his  seventy-third  year ; 
he  had  long  complained  of  the  efiects  of  age,  had  long 
since  retired  from  business,  and  now  lived  in  absolute 
seclusion  under  the  roof  of  his  son  IMichael,  the  well- 
known  solicitor.  Joseph,  on  the  other  hand,  was  stiU  up 
and  about,  and  still  presented  but  a  semi-venerable  figure 
on  the  streets  in  which  he  loved  to  wander.  This  was  the 
more  to  be  deplored,  because  Masterman  had  led  (even 
to  the  least  particular)  a  model  British  life.  Industry, 
regularity,  respectability,  and  a  preference  for  the  four 
per  cents,  are  understood  to  be  the  very  foundations  of  a 
green  old  age.  All  these  Masterman  had  eminently  dis- 
played, and  here  he  was,  ab  agendo,  at  seventy-three  ;  while 
Joseph,  barely  two  years  younger,  and  in  the  most  ex- 


4  THE   WRONG   BOX. 

cellent  preservation,  had  disgraced  himself  through  life 
by  idleness  and  eccentricity.  Embarked  in  the  leather 
trade,  he  had  eai*ly  wearied  of  business,  for  which  he  was 
supposed  to  have  small  parts.  A  taste  for  general  infor- 
mation, not  promptly  checked,  had  soon  begun  to  sap  his 
manhood.  There  is  no  passion  more  debilitating  to  the 
mind,  unless,  perhaps,  it  be  that  itch  of  public  speaking 
which  it  not  infrequently  accompanies  or  begets.  The 
two  were  conjoined  in  the  case  of  Joseph  ;  the  acute  stage 
of  this  double  malady,  that  in  which  the  patient  dehvers 
gi'atuitous  lectures,  soon  declared  itself  with  severity, 
and  not  many  years  had  passed  over  his  head  before  he 
would  have  travelled  thirty  miles  to  address  an  infant- 
school.  He  was  no  student ;  his  reading  was  confined  to 
elementary  text-books  and  the  daily  papers  ;  he  did  not 
even  fly  as  high  as  cyclopaedias ;  life,  he  would  say,  has  his 
volume.  His  lectures  were  not  meant  (he  would  declare) 
for  college  professors ;  they  were  addressed  direct  to 
"the  great  heai't  of  the  people,"  and  the  heart  of  the  peo- 
ple must  certainly  be  sounder  than  its  head,  for  his  lucu- 
brations were  received  with  favor.  That  entitled,  "How 
to  Live  Cheerfully  on  Forty  Pounds  a  Year,"  created  a 
sensation  among  the  unemployed.  "Education:  Its 
Aims,  Objects,  Purposes,  and  Desirability,"  gained  him 
the  respect  of  the  shallow-minded.  As  for  his  celebrated 
essay  on  "  Life  Insurance  Kegarded  in  its  Kelation  to  the 
Masses,"  read  before  the  Working  Men's  Mutual  Improve- 
ment Society,  Isle  of  Dogs,  it  was  received  with  a  "  literal 


IN    WHICH    MORKIS    SUSPECTS.  0 

ovation  "  by  an  unintelligent  audience  of  both  sexes.  And 
so  marked  was  the  effect  that  he  was  next  year  elected 
honorary  president  of  the  institution,  an  office  of  less  than 
no  emolument,  since  the  holder  was  expected  to  come 
down  with  a  donation,  but  one  which  highly  satisfied  his 
self-esteem. 

While  Joseph  was  thus  building  himself  up  a  reputa- 
tion among  the  more  cultivated  portion  of  the  ignorant, 
his  domestic  life  was  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  orphans. 
The  death  of  his  younger  brother  Jacob  saddled  him  with 
the  charge  of  two  boys,  Morris  and  John  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  same  year  his  family  was  still  further  swelled 
by  the  addition  of  a  Httle  girl,  the  daughter  of  John 
Henry  Hazeltine,  Esq.,  a  gentleman  of  small  property  and 
fewer  fi'iends.  He  had  met  Joseph  only  once,  at  a  lecture- 
hall  in  HoUoway  ;  but  from  that  formative  experience  he 
returned  home  to  make  a  new  will,  and  consign  his 
daughter  and  her  fortune  to  the  lecturer.  Joseph  had  a 
kindly  disposition ;  and  yet  it  was  not  without  reluctance 
that  he  accepted  this  new  responsibility,  advertised  for  a 
nurse,  and  purchased  a  second-hand  perambulator.  Mor- 
ris and  John  he  made  more  readily  welcome ;  not  so  much 
because  of  the  tie  of  consanguinity  as  because  the  leather 
business  (in  which  he  hastened  to  invest  their  fortune  of 
thirty  thousand  pounds)  had  recently  exhibited  inexplic- 
able symptoms  of  decHne.  A  young  but  capable  Scot 
was  chosen  as  manager  to  the  entei-prise,  and  the  cares  of 
business  never  again  afflicted  Joseph  Finsbury.     Leaving 


b  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

his  charges  in  the  hands  of  the  capable  Scot  (who  was 
married),  ho  began  his  extensive  travels  on  the  Conti- 
nent and  in  Asia  IMinor. 

With  a  i3ol3^glot  Testament  in  one  hand  and  a  phrase- 
book  in  the  othei*,  he  groped  his  way  among  the  speakers 
of  eleven  European  languages.  The  first  of  these  guides 
is  hardly  applicable  to  the  pui*jDoses  of  the  philosophic 
traveller,  and  even  the  second  is  designed  more  expressly 
for  the  tourist  than  for  the  expert  in  life.  But  he 
pressed  interpreters  into  his  service — whenever  he  could 
get  their  services  for  nothing — and  by  one  means  and  an- 
other filled'  many  note-books  with  the  results  of  his  re- 
searches. 

In  these  wanderings  he  spent  several  years,  and  only 
returned  to  England  when  the  increasing  age  of  his 
charges  needed  his  attention.  The  two  lads  had  been 
placed  in  a  good  but  economical  school,  where  they  had 
received  a  sound  commercial  education  ;  which  was  some- 
what awkward,  as  the  leather  business  was  by  no  means 
in  a  state  to  court  inquii-y.  In  fact,  when  Joseph  went 
over  his  accounts  preparatory  to  surrendering  his  trust, 
he  was  dismayed  to  discover  that  his  brother's  fortune  had 
not  increased  by  his  stewardship ;  even  by  making  over  to 
his  two  wards  every  penny  he  had  in  the  world,  there 
would  still  be  a  deficit  of  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds.  When  these  facts  were  communicated  to  the 
two  brothers  in  the  presence  of  a  lawyer,  Morris  Finsbury 
threatened  his  uncle  with  all  the  terrors  of  the  law,  and 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    SUSPECTS.  7 

was  only  prevented  from  taking  extreme  steps  by  the  ad- 
vice of  the  professional  man. 

"  You  cannot  get  blood  fi-om  a  stone,"  observed  the 
lawyer. 

And  Morris  saw  the  point,  and  came  to  terms  with  his 
uncle.  On  the  one  side,  Joseph  gave  up  all  that  he  pos- 
sessed and  assigned  to  his  nephew  his  contingent  interest 
in  the  tontine,  already  quite  a  hopeful  speculation.  On 
the  other,  Morris  agreed  to  harbor  his  uncle  and  Miss 
Hazeltine  (who  had  come  to  grief  with  the  rest),  and  to 
pay  to  each  of  them  one  pound  a  month  as  pocket-money. 
The  allowance  was  amply  sufficient  for  the  old  man ;  it 
scarce  appears  how  Miss  Hazeltine  contrived  to  dress 
upon  it ;  but  she  did,  and  what  is  more  she  never  com- 
plained. She  was,  indeed,  sincerely  attached  to  her  in- 
competent guardian.  He  had  never  been  unkind  ;  his  age 
spoke  for  him  loudly  ;  there  was  something  appealing  in 
his  whole-souled  quest  of  knowledge  and  innocent  delight 
in  the  smallest  mark  of  admiration  ;  and  though  the  law- 
yer had  warned  her  she  was  being  sacrificed,  Julia  had 
refused  to  add  to  the  perplexities  of  Uncle  Joseph. 

In  a  large,  dreary  house  in  John  Street,  Bloomsbury, 
these  four  dwelt  together ;  a  family  in  appearance,  in 
reality  a  financial  association.  Julia  and  Uncle  Joseph 
were,  of  course,  slaves  ;  John,  a  gentleman  with  a  taste  for 
the  banjo,  the  music-hall,  the  Gaiety  bar,  and  the  sporting 
papers,  must  have  been  anywhere  a  secondary  figure  ;  and 
the  cares  and  delights  of  empire  devolved  entirely  upon 


8  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

Moms.  That  these  are  inextricably  intermixed  is  one  of 
the  commonplaces  with  which  the  bland  essayist  consoles 
the  incompetent  and  the  obscure,  but  in  the  case  of  Mor- 
ris the  bitter  must  have  largely  outweighed  the  sweet. 
He  grudged  no  trouble  to  himself,  he  spared  none  to 
others  ;  he  called  the  servants  in  the  morning,  he  served 
out  the  stores  with  his  own  hand,  he  took  soundings  of 
the  sherry,  he  numbered  the  remainder  biscuits  ;  painful 
scenes  took  place  over  the  weekly  bills,  and  the  cook  was 
frequently  impeached,  and  the  tradespeople  came  and 
hectored  with  him  in  the  back  parlor,  upon  a  question 
of  three  farthings.  The  superficial  might  have  deemed 
him  a  miser  ;  in  his  own  eyes  he  was  simply  a  man  who 
had  been  defrauded  ;  the  world  owed  hira  seven  thousand 
eight  hundred  pounds,  and  he  intended  that  the  world 
should  pay. 

But  it  was  in  his  dealings  with  Joseph  that  Morris's 
character  particularly  shone.  His  uncle  Avas  a  rather 
gambling  stock  in  which  he  had  invested  heavily  ;  and  he 
spared  no  pains  in  nursing  the  security.  The  old  man 
was  seen  monthly  by  a  physician,  whether  he  was  well  or 
ill.  His  diet,  his  raiment,  his  occasional  outings,  now  to 
Brighton,  now  to  Bournemouth,  were  doled  out  to  him 
like  pap  to  infants.  In  bad  weather  he  must  keep  the 
house.  In  good  weather,  by  half-past  nine,  he  must  be 
ready  in  the  hall ;  Morris  would  see  that  he  had  gloves 
and  that  his  shoes  were  sound  ;  and  the  pair  would  start 
for  the  leather  business  ai-m  in  arm.     The  wav  there  mus 


m   WHICH   MORRIS    SUSPECTS.  9 

probably  dreary  enough,  for  there  was  no  pretence  of 
friendly  feeling  ;  Morris  had  never  ceased  to  upbraid  his 
guardian  with  his  defalcation  and  to  lament  the  burthen 
of  Miss  Hazeltine  ;  and  Joseph,  though  he  was  a  mild 
enough  soul,  regarded  his  nephew  with  something  very 
near  akin  to  hatred.  But  the  way  there  was  nothing  to 
the  journey  back  ;  for  the  mere  sight  of  the  place  of  busi- 
ness, as  well  as  every  detail  of  its  transactions,  was  enough 
to  poison  life  for  any  Finsbury. 

Joseph's  name  was  still  over  the  door  ;  it  was  he  who 
still  signed  the  cheques  ;  but  this  was  only  policy  on  the 
part  of  Morris,  and  designed  to  discourage  other  members 
of  the  Tontine.  In  reality,  the  business  was  entirely  his  ; 
and  he  found  it  ah  inheritance  of  sorrows.  He  tried  to 
sell  it,  and  the  offers  he  received  were  quite  derisory. 
He  tried  to  extend  it,  and  it  was  only  the  liabilities  he 
succeeded  in  extending  ;  to  restrict  it,  and  it  was  only  the 
l^rofits  he  managed  to  restrict.  Nobody  had  ever  made 
money  out  of  that  concern  except  the  capable  Scot,  who 
retired  (after  his  discharge)  to  the  neighborhood  of  Banff 
and  built  a  castle  with  his  profits.  The  memory  of 
this  fallacious  Caledonian,  Morris  would  revile  daily, 
as  he  sat  in  the  private  office  opening  his  mail,  with 
old  Joseph  at  another  table,  sullenly  awaiting  orders, 
or  savagely  affixing  signatures  to  he  knew  not  what. 
And  when  the  man  of  the  heather  pushed  cynicism  so 
far  as  to  send  him  the  announcement  of  his  second  mar- 
riage (to  Davida,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Alexander 


10  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

McCraw)  it  was  really  supposed  that  Morris  Avould  have 
had  a  fit. 

Business  hours,  in  the  Finsbury  leather  trade,  had  been 
cut  to  the  quick  ;  even  Morris's  strong  sense  of  duty  to  him- 
self was  not  strong  enough  to  dally  within  those  walls  and 
under  the  shadow  of  that  bankruptcy  ;  and  presently  the 
manager  and  the  clerks  would  draw  a  long  breath,  and 
compose  themselves  for  another  day  of  procrastination. 
Eaw  Haste,  on  the  authority  of  my  Lord  Tennyson,  is 
half-sister  to  Delay  ;  but  the  Business  Habits  are  certainly 
her  uncles.  Meanwhile,  the  leather-merchant  would  lead 
his  living  investment  back  to  John  Street  like  a  puppy 
dog  ;  and  having  there  immured  him  in  the  hall,  would 
depart  for  the  day  on  the  quest  of  seal  rings,  the  only 
passion  of  his  life.  Joseph  had  more  than  the  vanity  of 
man,  he  had  that  of  lecturers.  He  owned  he  was  in  fault  ; 
although  more  sinned  against  (by  the  capable  Scot)  than 
sinning  ;  but  had  he  steeped  his  hands  in  gore,  he  would 
still  not  deserve  to  be  thus  dragged  at  the  chariot-wlieels 
of  a  young  man,  to  sit  a  captive  in  the  halls  of  his  own 
leather  business,  to  be  entertained  with  mortifying  com- 
ments on  his  whole  career — to  have  his  costume  examined, 
his  collar  pulled  up,  the  presence  of  his  mittens  verified, 
and  to  be  taken  out  and  brought  home  iu  custody,  hke  an 
infant  with  a  nurse.  At  the  thought  of  it  his  soul  would 
swell  with  venom,  and  he  would  make  haste  to  hang  up 
his  hat  and  coat  and  the  detested  mittens,  and  slink  up- 
stairs to  Julia  and  his  note-books.     The  drawing-room  at 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    SUSPECTS.  11 

least  was  sacred  from  Morris ;  it  belonged  to  the  old  man 
and  the  young  girl;  it  was  there  that  she  made  her 
dresses  ;  it  was  there  that  he  inked  his  spectacles  over 
the  registration  of  disconnected  facts  and  the  calculation 
of  insignificant  statistics. 

Here  he  would  sometimes  lament  his  connection  with 
the  Tontine.  "  If  it  were  not  for  that,"  he  cried  one 
afternoon,  "  he  wordd  not  care  to  keep  me.  I  might  be 
a  free  man,  Julia.  And  I  could  so  easily  support  myself 
by  giving  lectui-es," 

"  To  be  sure  you  could,"  said  she  ;  "  and  I  think  it  one 
of  the  meanest  things  he  ever  did  to  deprive  you  of  that 
amusement.  There  were  those  nice  people  at  the  Isle  of 
Cats  (wasn't  it  ?)  who  wrote  and  asked  you  so  very  kindly 
to  give  them  an  address.  I  did  think  he  might  have  let 
you  go  to  the  Isle  of  Cats." 

"He  is  a  man  of  no  intelligence,"  cried  Joseph.  "He 
lives  here  literally  surrounded  by  the  absorbing  spectacle 
of  life,  and  for  all  the  good  it  does  him,  he  might  just  as 
well  be  in  his  coffin.  Think  of  his  opportunities  !  The 
heart  of  any  other  yoimg  man  would  burn  within  him  at 
the  chance.  The  amount  of  information  that  I  have  it  in 
my  power  to  convey,  if  he  would  only  listen,  is  a  thing 
that  beggars  language,  Julia." 

"  Whatever  you  do,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  excite  your- 
self," said  Juha  ;  "for  you  know,  if  you  look  at  all  ill,  the 
doctor  will  be  sent  for." 

"That  is  very  true,"  returned  the  old  man,  humbly,  "I 


12  THE    WROMG    BOX. 

will  compose  myself  with  a  little  study."  He  thumbed 
his  galleiy  of  note-books.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said,  "  I  won- 
der (since  I  see  your  hands  are  occupied)  whether  it 
might  not  interest  you " 

"  Why,  of  course  it  would,"  cried  Julia.  "  Read  me 
one  of  vour  nice  stories,  there's  a  dear ! 

He  had  the  volume  down  and  his  spectacles  upon  his 
nose  instanter,  as  thougli  to  forestall  some  possible  re- 
tractation. "What  I  propose  to  read  to  you,"  said  he, 
skimming  through  the  pages,  "  is  the  notes  of  a  liigbly 
important  conversation  with  a  Dutch  courier  of  the 
name  of  David  Abbas,  which  is  the  Latin  for  abbot. 
Its  results  are  well  worth  the  money  it  cost  me,  for 
as  Abbas  at  fii'st  appeared  somewhat  impatient,  I  was 
induced  to  (what  is,  I  believe,  singularly  called)  stand 
him  drink.  It  runs  only  to  about  five  and  twenty  pages. 
Yes,  here  it  is."  He  cleared  his  throat,  and  began  to 
read. 

Mr.  Finsbury  (according  to  his  own  report)  contributed 
about  four  hundred  and  ninety-nine  five-hundredtbs  of 
the  interview,  and  elicited  from  Abbas  literally  nothing. 
It  was  dull  for  Julia,  who  did  not  require  to  listen  ;  for 
the  Dutch  courier,  who  had  to  answer,  it  must  have  been 
a  perfect  nightmare.  It  wovdd  seem  as  if  he  had  consoled 
himself  by  frequent  applications  to  the  bottle  ;  it  would 
even  seem  that  (toward  the  end)  he  had  ceased  to  depend 
on  Joseph's  frugal  generosity,  and  called  for  the  flagon  on 
his  own  account.     The  effect,  at  least,  of  some  mellowing 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    SUSPECTS.  13 

influence  was  visible  in  the  record  :  Abbas  became  suJ- 
denly  a  willing  Avitness  ;  he  began  to  volunteer  disclosui-es  ; 
and  Julia  had  just  looked  up  from  her  seam  with  some- 
thin"'  Hke  a  smile,  when  Morris  burst  into  the  house,  eacrerlv 
caUing  for  his  uncle,  and  the  next  instant  plunged  into  the 
room,  waving  in  the  air  the  evening  paper. 

It  was  indeed  with  great  news  that  he  came  charged. 
The  demise  was  announced  of  Lieuteuant-General  Sir 
Glascow  Biggar,  K.G.S.I.,  K.C.M.G.,  etc.,  and  the  prize 
of  the  tontine  now  lav  between  the  Finsburv  brothers. 
Here  was  Mox'ris's  opi^ortunity  at  last.  The  brothers  had 
never,  it  is  true,  been  cordiaL  When  word  came  that 
Joseph  was  in  Asia  Minor,  Masterman  had  expressed  him- 
self with  iiTitation.  "I  call  it  simply  indecent,"  he  had 
said.  "  Mark  my  words — we  shaU  hear  of  him  next  at  the 
North  Pole."  And  these  bitter  expressions  had  been  re- 
ported to  the  traveller  on  his  return.  What  was  worse, 
Masterman  had  refused  to  attend  the  lecture  on  "  Educa- 
tion ;  its  aims,  objects,  purpose,  and  desirability,"  although 
invited  to  the  platform.  Since  then,  the  brothers  had  not 
met.  On  the  other  hand,  they  never  had  openly  quar- 
relled ;  Joseph  (by  Morris's  orders)  was  prepai*ed  to  waive 
the  advantage  of  his  juniority ;  Masterman  had  enjoyed  all 
thi'ough  life  the  reputation  of  a  man  neither  greedy  nor 
unfair.  Here,  then,  were  all  the  elements  of  compromise 
assembled  ;  and  Morris,  suddenly  beholding  his  seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds  restored  to  him,  and  him- 
self dismissed  from  the  vicissitudes  of  the  leather  trade, 


14  TllIC    WRONG    IJOX. 

liastened   the   next   moruiug  to  the   office  of  his  cousin 
Michael. 

Michael  was  something  of  a  public  character.  Launched 
upon  the  law  at  a  very  early  age,  and  quite  without  pro- 
tectors, he  had  become  a  trafficker  in  shady  affairs.  He 
was  known  to  be  the  man  for  a  lost  cause,  it  was  known  ho 
could  extract  testimony  from  a  stone,  and  interest  from  a 
gold  mine  ;  and  his  office  was  besieged  in  consequence  by 
all  that  numerous  class  of  persons  who  have  still  some 
reputation  to  lose,  and  find  themselves  upon  the  point  of 
losing  it ;  by  those  who  have  made  undesirable  acquaint- 
ances, who  have  mislaid  a  compromising  correspondence, 
or  who  are  blackmailed  by  their  own  butlers.  In  private 
life,  Michael  was  a  man  of  pleasure ;  but  it  was  thought 
bis  dire  experience  at  the  office  had  gone  far  to  sober  bim, 
and  it  was  known  that  (in  the  matter  of  investments)  lie 
prefen-ed  the  solid  to  the  brilliant.  What  was  yet  more 
to  the  purpose,  he  had  been  all  his  life  a  consistent  scoffer 
at  the  Finsbury  tontine. 

It  was  therefore  with  little  fear  for  the  result  that 
Morris  presented  himself  before  his  cousin,  and  pro- 
ceeded feverishly  to  set  forth  his  scheme.  For  near 
upon  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  lawyer  suffered  him  to 
dwell  upon  its  manifest  advantages  uninterrupted.  Then 
Michael  rose  from  his  seat,  and  ringing  for  his  clerk, 
uttered  a  single  clause. 

"  It  won't  do,  Morris." 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  leather  merchant  pleaded  and 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    SUSPECTS.  15 

reasoned,  and  returned  day  after  day  to  plead  and  reason. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  offered  a  bonus  of  one  thousand,  of 
two  thousand,  of  three  thousand  pounds  ;  in  vain  that  he 
offered,  in  Joseph's  name,  to  be  content  with  only  one- 
third  of  the  jiool.  Still  there  came  the  same  answer  : 
"It  won't  do." 

"  I  can't  see  the  bottom  of  this,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You 
answer  none  of  my  arguments,  you  haven't  a  word  to  say. 
For  my  part,  I  believe  it's  malice." 

The  lawyer  smiled  at  him  benignly.  "You  may  believe 
one  thing,"  said  he  ;  "whatever  else  I  do,  I  am  not  going 
to  gratify  any  of  your  curiosity.  You  see  I  am  a  trifle 
more  communicative  to-day,  because  this  is  our  last  inter- 
view upon  the  subject." 

"  Our  last  interview  !  "  cried  Morris. 

"The  stirrup-cup,  dear  boy,"  returned  Michael.  "I 
can't  have  my  business  hours  encroached  upon.  And  by 
the  by,  have  you  no  business  of  your  own  ?  Are  there  no 
convulsions  in  the  leather  trade  ?  " 

"  I  beheve  it  to  be  malice,"  repeated  Morris,  doggedly. 
"  You  always  hated  and  despised  me  fi*om  a  boy." 

"No,  no — not  hated,"  returned  Michael,  soothingly. 
"  I  rather  like  you  than  otherwise  ;  there's  such  a  per- 
manent surprise  about  you,  you  look  so  dark  and  attrac- 
tive from  a  distance.  Do  you  know  that  to  the  naked  eye 
you  look  romantic  ? — like  what  they  call  a  man  with  a 
history.  And  indeed,  from  all  that  I  can  hear,  the  history 
of  the  leather  trade  is  full  of  incident." 


16  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"Yes,"  said  Morris,  disregarding  these  remarks,  "it's 
no  use  coming  here,  I  shall  see  your  father." 

"Oh,  no.  you  won't,"  said  Michael.  "Nobody  shall  see 
my  father." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  why,"  cried  his  cousin. 

"I  never  make  any  secret  of  that,"  replied  the  lawyer. 
"He  is  too  ill." 

"  If  he  is  as  ill  as  you  say,"  cried  the  other,  "  the  more 
reason  for  accepting  my  proposal.     I  will  see  him." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Michael,  and  he  rose  and  rang  for 
his  clerk. 

It  was  now  time,  according  to  Sir  Faradaj'  Bond,  the 
medical  baronet  whose  name  is  so  familiar  at  the  foot  of 
bulletins,  that  Joseph  (the  poor  Golden  Goose)  should 
be  removed  into  the  j)urer  air  of  Bournemouth  ;  and  for 
that  uncharted  wilderness  of  villas  the  family  now  shook 
off  the  dust  of  Bloomsbury  :  Julia  delighted,  because  at 
Bournemouth  she  sometimes  made  acquaintances  ;  John 
in  despair,  for  he  was  a  man  of  city  tastes  ;  Joseph  indif- 
ferent where  he  was,  so  long  as  there  was  pen  and  ink 
and  daily  papers,  and  he  could  avoid  martyrdom  at  the 
office  ;  Morris  himself,  perhaps,  not  displeased  to  preter- 
mit these  visits  to  the  city,  and  have  a  quiet  time  for 
thought.  He  was  prepared  for  any  sacrifice  ;  all  he  de- 
sired was  to  get  his  money  again  and  clear  his  feet  of 
leather  ;  and  it  would  be  strange,  since  he  was  so  mod- 
est in  his  desires  and  the  pool  amounted  to  upward  of 
a  hundred   and  sixteen  thousand   pounds — it  would  be 


IN    WUICII    MOEKIS    SUSPECTS.  17 

strange,  indeed,  if  he  could  find  no  way  of  influencing 
Michael.  "If  I  could  only  guess  his  reason,"  he  re- 
peated to  himself ;  and  by  day,  as  he  walked  in  Branh- 
Bome  woods,  and  by  night,  as  he  turned  upon  his  bed, 
and  at  meal  times,  when  he  forgot  to  eat,  and  in  the 
bathing  machine,  when  he  forgot  to  dress  himself,  that 
problem  was  constantly  before  him  :  why  had  Michael  re- 
fused ? 

At  last  one  night,  he  burst  into  his  brother's  room  and 
woke  him. 

"  What's  all  this?  "  asked  John. 

"Julia  leaves  this  place  to-morrow,"  replied  Morris; 
"  she  must  go  .  up  to  town  and  get  the  house  ready,  and 
find  sei'vants.     We  shall  all  follow  in  three  days." 

"  Oh,  brayvo  !  "  cried  John.     "  But  why  ?  " 

"I've  found  it  out,  John,"  returned  his  brother,  gently. 

"  It  ?     What  ?  "  inquired  John. 

"  Why  Michael  won't  compromise,"  said  Morris.  "It's 
because  he  can't.  It's  because  Masterman's  dead,  and  he's 
keeping  it  dark." 

"  Golly  !  "  cried  the  impressionable  John.  "  But  what's 
the  use  ?  why  does  he  do  it,  anyway  ?  " 

"To  defraud  us  of  the  tontine,"  said  his  brother. 

"He  cotddn't  ;  you  have  to  have  a  doctor's  certificate," 
objected  John. 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  venal  doctors?"  inquired  Mor- 
ris. "  They're  as  common  as  blackberries  ;  you  can  pick 
'em  up  for  three  pound  ten  a  head." 


3  8  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  under  fifty  if  I  were  a  sawbones," 
ejaculated  John. 

"  And  tlien,  Michael,"  continued  Morris,  "  is  in  the 
very  thick  of  it.  All  his  clients  have  come  to  grief  ;  his 
whole  business  is  rotten  eggs.  If  any  man  could  arrange 
it,  he  could  ;  and  depend  upon  it,  he  has  his  plan  all 
straight  ;  and  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  good  one,  for  he's 
clever,  and  be  damned  to  him  !  But  I'm  clever,  too  ;  i^nd 
I'ju  desperate.  I  lost  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds  when  I  was  an  orphan  at  school." 

"Oh,  don't  be  tedious,"  interrupted  John.  "Touve 
lost  far  more  akeady  trying  to  get  it  back." 


CHAPTER  IL 

IN    WHICH    MOREIS    TAKES   ACTION. 

Some  days  later,  accordingly,  the  tlu-ee  males  of  this 
depressing  family  might  have  been  observed  (by  a  reader 
of  G.  P.  R  James)  taking  their  departure  from  the  East 
Station  of  Bournemouth.  The  weather  was  raw  and 
changeable,  and  Joseph  was  arrayed  in  consequence  ac- 
cording to  the  principles  of  Sir  Faraday  Bond,  a  man  no 
less  strict  (as  is  well  known)  on  costume  than  on  diet. 
There  are  few  polite  invalids  who  have  not  lived,  or  tried 
to  live,  by  that  punctilious  physician's  orders.  "Avoid 
tea,  madam,"  the  reader  has  doubtless  heard  him  say, 
"avoid  tea,  fried  liver,  antimonial  wine,  and  bakers' 
bread.  Retire  nightly  at  10.45  ;  and  clothe  yourself  (if 
you  please)  throughout  in  hygienic  flannel.  Externally, 
the  fm-  of  the  marten  is  indicated.  Do  not  forget  to  pro- 
cure a  pair  of  health  boots  at  Messrs.  Dall  &  Grumble's." 
And  he  has  probably  called  you  back,  even  after  you  have 
paid  your  fee,  to  add  with  stentorian  emphasis  :  "  I  had 
forgotten  one  caution :  avoid  kippered  sturgeon,  as  you 
would  the  very  devil !  "  The  unfortunate  Joseph  was  cut 
to  the  pattern  of  Sir  Faraday  in  eveiy  button  ;  he  was 
shod  with  the  health  boot ;  his  suit  was  of  genuine  venti- 


20  THE  WRONG  nox. 

lating  cloth ;  his  shirt  of  hygienic  flannel,  a  somewhat 
dingy  fabric ;  and  he  was  draped  to  the  kuees  in  the  in- 
evitable great-coat  of  marten's  fur.  The  very  railway 
porters  at  Bournemouth  (which  was  a  favorite  station  of 
the  doctor's)  marked  the  old  gentleman  for  a  creature  of 
Sir  Faraday.  There  was  but  one  evidence  of  personal 
taste,  a  vizarded  forage-cap  ;  from  this  form  of  headpiece, 
since  he  had  fled  from  a  dying  jackal  on  the  plains  of 
Ephesus,  and  weathered  a  bora  in  the  Adriatic,  nothing 
could  divorce  our  traveller. 

The  three  Finsburys  mounted  into  their  compartment, 
and  fell  immediately  to  quarrelling,  a  step  unseemly  in  it- 
self and  (in  this  case)  highly  unfortunate  for  Morris.  Had 
he  lingered  a  moment  longer  by  the  window,  this  tale  need 
never  have  been  written.  For  he  might  then  have  ob- 
served (as  the  porters  did  not  fail  to  do)  the  arrival  of  a 
second  passenger  iu  tbe  uniform  of  Sir  Faraday  Bond. 
But  he  had  other  matters  on  hand  which  he  judged  (God 
knows  how  erroneously)  to  be  more  important. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  he  cried,  resuming  a 
discussion  which  had  scarcely  ceased  all  morning.  "The 
bill  is  not  yours  ;  it  is  mine." 

"  It  is  payable  to  me,"  returned  the  old  gentleman,  with 
an  air  of  bitter  obstinacy.  "I  will  do  what  I  please  with 
my  own  property." 

The  bill  was  one  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  which  had 
been  given  him  at  breakfast  to  endorse,  and  which  he  had 
simply  pocketed. 


IN    WHICH    MORKIS    TAKES    ACTION.  21 

" Hear  him,  Johnny !  "  cried  Morris.  "His  property  ! 
the  very  clothes  upon  his  back  belong  to  me." 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  John,  "I'm  sick  of  both  of  you." 

"  That  is  no  way  to  speak  of  your  uncle,  sir,"  cried 
Joseph.  "  I  will  not  endure  this  disrespect.  You  are  a 
pair  of  exceedingly  forward,  impudent,  and  ignorant 
young  men,  and  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  put  an 
end  to  the  whole  business." 

"  Oh,  skittles  ! "  said  the  graceful  John. 

Bat  Morris  was  not  so  easy  in  his  mind.  This  unusual 
act  of  insubordination  had  already  troubled  him  ;  and 
these  mutinous  words  now  sounded  ominously  in  his  ears. 
He  looked  at  the  old  gentleman  uneasily.  Upon  one  oc- 
casion many  years  before,  when  Joseph  was  delivering  a 
lecture,  the  audience  had  revolted  in  a  body  ;  finding 
their  entertainer  somewhat  dry,  they  had  taken  the  ques- 
tion of  amusement  into  their  own  hands  ;  and  the  lec- 
turer (along  with  the  board  schoolmaster,  the  Baptist 
clergyman,  and  a  working-man's  candidate,  who  made  up 
his  bodyguard)  was  ultimately  di'iven  from  the  scene. 
Morris  had  not  been  present  on  that  fatal  day  ;  if  he  had, 
he  would,  have  recognized  a  certain  fighting  glitter  in  his 
uncle's  eye,  and  a  certain  chewing  movement  of  his  lii)s, 
as  old  acquaintances.  But  even  to  the  inexpert  these 
symptoms  breathed  of  something  dangerous. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Morris.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  bother 
you  further  till  we  get  to  Loudon." 

Joseph  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  him  in  answer  ;  with 


22  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

tremulous  hands  lie  produced  a  copy  of  the  British  Me- 
chanic,  and  ostentatiously  buried  himself  in  its  perusal. 

"I  wonder  what  can  make  him  so  cantankerous?  "  re- 
flected the  nephew.  "  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it  at  all." 
And  he  dubiously  scratched  his  nose. 

The  train  travelled  forth  into  the  world,  bearing  along 
with  it  the  customary  freight  of  obliterated  voyagers,  and 
along  with  these  old  Joseph,  affecting  immersion  in  his 
paper,  and  John,  slumbering  over  the  columns  of  the 
Fink  Un,  and  Morris,  revolving  in  his  mind  a  dozen 
grudges,  and  suspicious,  and  alarms.  It  passed  Christ 
Church  by  the  sea,  Heme  with  its  pinewoods,  Ringwood 
on  its  mazy  river.  A  little  behind  time,  but  not  much  for 
the  South  Western,  it  drew  up  at  the  platform  of  a  station, 
in  the  midst  of  the  New  Forest,  the  real  name  of  which  (in 
case  the  railway  company  "  might  have  the  law  of  me  ") 
I  shall  veil  under  the  alias  of  Browndean. 

Many  passengers  put  their  heads  to  the  window,  and 
among  the  rest  an  old  gentleman  on  whom  I  willingly 
dwell,  for  I  am  nearly  done  -with  him  now,  and  (in  the 
whole  course  of  the  present  nai-rative)  I  am  not  in  the 
least  likely  to  meet  another  character  so  decent.  His 
name  is  immaterial,  not  so  his  habits.  He  had  passed  his 
life  wandering  in  a  tweed  suit  on  the  continent  of  Europe  ; 
and  years  of  GaUgnani's  Messenger  having  at  length  un- 
dermined his  eyesight,  he  suddenly  remembered  the 
rivers  of  Assyria  and  came  to  London  to  consult  an  oculist. 
From   the  oculist  to  the  dentist,  and  from  both  to  the 


m    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  23 

physician,  the  step  appears  inevitable ;  presently  be  was 
in  the  hands  of  Sir  Faraday,  robed  in  ventilating  cloth  and 
sent  to  Bournemouth  ;  and  to  that  domineering  baronet 
(who  was  his  only  friend  upon  his  native  soil)  he  was  now 
returning  to  report.  The  case  of  these  tweed-suited  wan 
derers  is  unique.  We  have  all  seen  them  entering  the 
table  d'hote  (at  Spezzia,  or  Griitz,  or  Venice)  with  a  gen- 
teel melancholy  and  a  faint  appearance  of  having  been  to 
India  and  not  succeeded  ;  in  the  offices  of  many  hundred 
hotels,  they  are  known  by  name  ;  and  yet,  if  the  whole  of 
this  wandering  cohort  were  to  disappear  to-morrow,  their 
absence  would  be  wholly  unremarked.  How^  much  more,  if 
only  one — say  this  one  in  the  ventilating  cloth — should 
vanish !  He  had  paid  his  bills  at  Bournemouth ;  his 
worldlj'  effects  were  all  in  the  van  in  two  portmanteaus, 
and  these  after  the  proper  interval  would  be  sold  as  un- 
claimed baggage  to  a  Jew  ;  Sir  Faraday's  butler  would  be 
a  half-crown  poorer  at  the  year's  end,  and  the  hotel-keepers 
of  Europe  about  the  same  date  would  be  mourning  a 
small  but  quite  observable  decline  in  profits.  And  that 
would  be  literally  ail.  Perhaps  the  old  gentleman  thought 
something  of  the  sort,  for  he  looked  melancholy  enough  as 
he  pulled  his  bare,  gray  head  back  into  the  carriage,  and 
the  train  smoked  under  the  bridge  and  forth,  with  ever 
quickening  speed,  across  the  mingled  heaths  and  woods 
of  the  New  Forest. 

Not  many  hundred  yards  beyond  Browndean,  however, 
a  sudden  jarring  of  brakes  set  everybody's  teeth  on  edge. 


24  THK   ■WRONG    BOX. 

and  there  was  a  brutal  stoppage.  Morris  Fiusbuiy  was 
aware  of  a  confused  uproar  of  voices,  and  sprang  to  the 
window.  Women  were  screaming,  men  were  tumbling 
from  the  windows  on  the  track,  the  guard  was  crying  to 
them  to  stay  where  they  wei-e  ;  at  the  same  time  the  train 
began  to  gather  way  and  move  very  slowly  backward 
toward  Browndean  ;  and  the  next  moment,  all  these  var- 
ious sounds  were  blotted  out  in  the  apocalyptic  whistle 
and  the  thundering  onslaught  of  the  down  express. 

The  actual  collision  Morris  did  not  hear.  Perhaps  he 
fainted.  He  had  a  wild  dream  of  having  seen  the  carriage 
double  up  and  fall  to  pieces  like  a  pantomime  trick ;  and 
sure  enough,  when  he  came  to  himself,  he  was  lying  on 
the  bare  earth  and  under  the  open  sky.  His  head  ached 
savagely  ;  he  carried  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  was  not 
surprised  to  see  it  red  with  blood.  The  air  was  filled  with 
an  intolerable,  throbbing  roar,  which  he  exj^ected  to  find 
die  away  with  the  return  of  consciousness ;  and  instead  of 
that  it  seemed  but  to  swell  the  louder  and  to  pierce  the 
more  cruelly  through  his  ears.  It  was  a  raging,  bellowing 
thunder,  like  a  boiler-riveting  factory. 

And  now  curiosity  began  to  stir,  and  he  sat  up  and 
looked  about  him.  The  track  at  this  point  ran  in  a  sharp 
curve  about  a  wooded  hillock  ;  all  of  the  near  side  was 
heaped  with  the  wreckage  of  the  Bournemouth  train  ; 
that  of  the  express  was  mostly  hidden  by  the  trees ;  and 
just  at  the  turn,  under  clouds  of  vomiting  steam  and  piled 
about  with  caii-ns  of  living  coal,  lay  what  remained  of  the 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  25 

two  engines,  one  upon  the  other.  On  the  heathy  mai-gin 
of  the  line  were  many  people  running  to  and  fro,  and  cry- 
ing aloud  as  they  ran,  and  many  others  lying  motionless 
like  sleeping  tramps. 

MoiTis  suddenly  drew  an  inference.  "  There  has  been 
an  accident ! "  thought  he,  and  was  elated  at  his  perspi- 
cacity. Almost  at  the  same  time  his  eye  lighted  on  John, 
who  lay  close  by  as  white  as  paper.  *'  Poor  old  John  ! 
poor  old  cove ! "  he  thought,  the  schoolboy  exj)ression 
popping  forth  from  some  forgotten  treasury,  and  he 
took  his  brother's  hand  in  his  with  childish  tenderness. 
It  was  perhaps  the  touch  that  recalled  him  ;  at  least  John 
opened  his  eyes,  sat  suddenly  up,  and  after  sevei'al  ineffec- 
tual movements  of  his  lips,  "What's  the  row?"  said  he,  in 
a  phantom  voice. 

The  din  of  that  devil's  smithy  still  thundered  in  their 
ears.  "Let  us  get  away  from  that,"  Morris  cried,  and 
pointed  to  the  vomit  of  steam  that  still  spouted  from  the 
broken  engines.  And  the  pair  helped  each  other  up,  and 
stood  and  quaked  and  wavered  and  stared  about  them  at 
the  scene  of  death. 

Just  then  they  were  approached  by  a  party  of  men  who 
had  already  organized  themselves  for  the  purposes  of  rescue. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  cried  one  of  these,  a  young  fellow 
with  the  sweat  streaming  down  his  pallid  face,  and  who 
by  the  way  he  was  treated  was  evideutly  the  doctor. 

Morris  shook  his  head,  and  the  young  man,  nodding 
grimly,  handed  him  a  bottle  of  some  spirit. 


26  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"Take  a  drink  of  that,"  be  said,  "your  friend  looks  as 
if  he  needed  it  badly.  We  want  every  man  we  can  get," 
be  added  ;  "  there's  terrible  work  before  us,  and  nobody 
should  shirk.  If  you  can  do  no  more  you  can  carry  a 
stretcher." 

The  doctor  was  hardly  gone  before  Morris,  under  the 
si^ur  of  the  dram,  awoke  to  the  full  possession  of  his 
wits. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried.     "  Uncle  Joseph  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "  where  can  he  be  ?  He  can't  be  far 
off.     I  hope  the  old  party  isn't  damaged." 

"Come  and  help  me  to  look,"  said  Morris,  with  a  snap 
of  savage  determination  sti*angely  foreign  to  his  ordinary 
bearing  ;  and  then,  for  one  moment,  he  broke  forth,  "  If 
he's  dead  !  "  he  cried,  and  shook  his  fist  at  heaven. 

To  and  fro  the  brothers  hurried,  staring  in  the  faces  of 
the  wounded,  or  turning  the  dead  upon  their  backs. 
They  must  have  thus  examined  forty  people,  and  still 
there  was  no  word  of  Uncle  Joseph.  But  now  the  course 
of  their  search  brought  them  near  the  centre  of  the  colli- 
sion, where  the  boilers  were  still  blowing  off  steam  with  a 
deafening  clamor.  It  was  a  part  of  the  field  not  yet 
gleaned  by  the  rescuing  party.  The  gi'ound,  especially'  on 
the  margin  of  the  wood,  was  full  of  inequalities — here  a 
pit,  there  a  hillock  surmounted  with  a  bush  of  furze.  It 
was  a  place  where  many  bodies  might  lie  concealed,  and 
they  beat  it  like  pointers  after  game.  Suddenly  Morris, 
who  was  leading,   paused    and  reached   forth  his  index 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  27 

■with  a  tragic  gesture.  Jolin  followed  the  direction  of  his 
brother's  Imud. 

In  the  bottom  of  a  sandy  hole  lay  something  that  had 
once  been  human.  The  face  had  suffered  severely,  and  it 
was  unrecognizable ;  but  that  was  not  required.  The 
snowy  hair,  the  coat  of  Marten,  the  ventilating  cloth,  the 
hygienic  flannel — everything  down  to  the  health  boots 
from  Messrs.  Dall  &  Crumbles,  identified  the  body  as 
that  of  Uncle  Joseph.  Only  the  forage  cap  must  have 
been  lost  in  the  convulsion,  for  the  dead  man  was  bare- 
headed. 

"  The  poor  old  beggar ! "  said  John,  with  a  touch  of 
natural  feeling ;  "I  would  give  ten  pounds  we  hadn't 
chivied  him  in  the  train  !  " 

But  there  was  no  sentiment  in  the  face  of  Morris  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  dead.  Gnawing  his  nails,  with  introverted 
eyes,  his  brow  marked  with  the  stamp  of  tragic  indigna- 
tion and  tragic  intellectual  effort,  he  stood  there  silent. 
Here  was  a  last  injustice  ;  he  had  been  robbed  while  he 
was  an  orphan  at  school,  he  had  been  lashed  to  a  decadent 
leather  business,  he  had  been  saddled  with  IMiss  Hazel- 
tine,  his  cousin  had  been  defrauding  him  of  the  Tontine, 
and  he  had  borne  all  this,  we  might  almost  say,  with  dig- 
nity, and  now  they  had  gone  and  hilled  his  uncle  ! 

" Here  !"  he  said,  suddenly,  "take  his  heels,  we  must 
get  him  into  the  woods.  I'm  not  going  to  have  anybody 
find  this." 

"  Oh,  fudge  !  "  said  John,  "  where's  the  use  ?  " 


28  THE    WliONa    BOX, 

*'  Do  what  I  tell  you,"  si^irted  Morris,  as  he  took  the 
corpse  by  the  shoulders.  "  Am  I  to  carry  him  my- 
self ?  " 

They  were  close  upou  the  borders  of  the  wood  ;  in  ten 
or  twelve  paces  they  were  under  cover ;  and  a  little 
farther  back,  in  a  sandy  clearing  of  the  trees,  they  laid 
their  burthen  down,  and  stood  and  looked  at  it  with 
loathing. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  whispered  John. 

"  Bury  him,  to  be  sure  ! "  responded  Morris,  and  he 
opened  his  pocket  knife  and  began  feverishly  to  dig. 

"  You'll  never  make  a  hand  of  it  with  that,"  objected 
the  other. 

"If  you  won't  help  me,  you  cowardly  shirk,"  screamed 
Morris,  "  you  can  go  to  the  devil ! " 

"  It's  the  childishest  folly,"  said  John,  "  but  no  man 
shall  call  me  a  coward,"  and  he  began  to  help  his  brother 
grudgingly. 

The  soil  was  sandy  and  light,  but  matted  with  the  roots 
of  the  surrounding  firs.  Gorse  tore  their  hands  ;  and  as 
they  baled  the  saud  from  the  grave,  it  was  often  dis- 
colored with  their  blood.  An  hour  passed  of  unremitting 
energy  upon  the  part  of  Morris,  of  lukewarm  help  on  that 
of  John  ;  and  still  the  trench  was  barely  nine  inches  in 
depth.  Into  this  the  body  was  rudely  flung ;  sand  was 
piled  upon  it,  and  then  more  sand  must  be  dug,  and  gorse 
had  to  be  cut  to  pile  on  that ;  and  still  from  one  end  of 
the  sordid  mound  a  pair  of  feet  projected  and  caught  the 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  29 

f 

light  upjn  tbeir  pateut-leather  toes.  But  by  this  time 
the  nerves  of  both  were  shaken  ;  even  Morris  had  enough 
of  his  grisly  task  ;  and  they  skulked  off  like  animals  into 
the  thickest  of  the  neighboring  covert. 

"It's  the  best  that  we  can  do,"  said  Morris,  sitting 
down. 

" And  now,"  said  John,  "perhaps  you'll  have  the  po- 
liteness to  tell  me  what  it's  all  about." 

"Upon  my  word,"  cried  Morris,  "if  you  do  not  under- 
stand for  yourself,  I  almost  despair  of  telling  you." 

"  Oh,  of  course  it's  some  rot  about  the  tontine,"  returned 
the  other.  "  But  it's  the  merest  nonsense.  We've  lost  it, 
and  there's  an  end." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Morris,  "Uncle  Masterman  is  dead. 
I  know  it,  there's  a  voice  here  that  tells  me  so." 

"  Well,  and  so  is  Uncle  Joseph," said  John. 

"  He's  not  dead  unless  I  choose,"  returned  Morris. 

"  And  come  to  that,"  cried  John,  "  if  you're  right,  and 
Uncle  Masterman's  been  dead  ever  so  long,  all  we  have  to 
do  is  to  tell  the  truth  and  expose  Michael." 

"You  seem  to  think  Michael  is  a  fool,"  sneered  Morris. 
"  Can't  you  understand  he's  been  preparing  this  fi-aud  for 
years?  He  has  the  whole  thing  ready  :  the  nurse,  the 
doctor,  the  undertaker,  all  bought,  the  certificate  all  ready 
but  the  date  !  Let  him  get  wind  of  this  business  and  you 
mark  my  words,  Uncle  Masterman  will  die  in  two  days 
and  be  buried  in  a  week.  But  see  here,  Johnny  ;  what 
Michael  can  do,  I  can  do.     If  he  plays  a  game  of  bluff,  so 


30  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

can  I.  If  his  father  is  to  live  forever,  by  God,  so  shall  my 
uncle  ! " 

"It's  illegal,  ain't  it  ?"  said  John. 

"A  man  must  have  some  moral  courage,"  replied  Morris 
with  dignity. 

"And  then  suppose  you're  wi'ong?  suppose  Uncle 
Masterman's  alive  and  kicking  ?  " 

"Well,  even  then,"  responded  the  plotter,  "we  are  no 
worse  than  we  were  before  ;  in  fact,  we're  better.  Uncle 
Masterman  must  die  some  day  ;  as  long  as  Uncle  Joseph 
was  alive,  he  might  have  died  any  day  ;  but  we're  out  of 
all  that  trouble  now  :  there's  no  sort  of  limit  to  the  game 
that  I  propose — it  can  be  kept  up  till  Kingdom  Come." 

"  If  I  could  only  see  how  you  meant  to  set  about  it !  " 
sighed  John.  "  But  you  know,  Morris,  you  always  were 
such  a  bungler." 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  I  ever  bungled,"  cried  Morris  ; 
"I  have  the  best  collection  of  signet  rings  in  London." 

"Well,  you  know,  there's  the  leather  business,"  sug- 
gested the  other.     "  That's  considered  rather  a  hash." 

It  was  a  mark  of  singular  self-control  in  Morris  that  he 
suffered  this  to  pass  unchallenged  and  even  unresented. 

"About  the  business  in  hand,"  said  he,  "once  we  can 
get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury,  there's  no  sort  of  trouble. 
We  bury  him  in  the  cellar,  which  seems  made  for  it ;  and 
then  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  start  out  and  find  a  venal  doc- 
tor." 

"Why  can't  we  leave  him  where  he  is?"  asked  John. 


IX    WlJICn    MORRIS    TAKKS    ACTION.  31 

"Because  we  know  nothing  abovifc  the  country,"  re- 
torted Morris.  "  This  wood  may  be  a  regular  lovers' 
walk.  Turn  your  mind  to  the  real  difficulty.  How  are 
we  to  get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury." 

Various  schemes  were  mooted  and  rejected.  The  rail- 
way station  at  Browndean  was  of  course  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  for  it  would  now  be  a  centre  of  cui-iosity  and  gossip, 
and  (of  all  things)  they  would  be  least  able  to  despatch  a 
dead  body  without  remark.  Jolm  feebly  proposed  get- 
ting an  ale-cask  and  sending  it  as  beer,  but  the  objections 
to  this  course  were  so  overwhelming  that  Morris  scorned 
to  answer.  The  purchase  of  a  packing-case  seemed  equally 
hopeless  ;  for  why  should  two  gentlemen  without  bag- 
gage of  any  kind  require  a  packing-case  ?  They  would 
be  more  likely  to  require  clean  linen. 

"We  are  working  on  wrong  lines,"  cried  Morris  at  last. 
"  The  thing  must  be  gone  about  more  carefully.  Sup- 
pose, now,"  he  added,  excitedly,  speaking  by  fits  and  starts 
as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud,  "  suppose  we  rent  a  cottage 
by  the  mouth  :  a  householder  can  buy  a  packing-case 
without  remark.  Then  suppose  we  clear  the  people  out 
to-day,  get  the  packing-case  to-night,  and  to-morrow  I 
hire  a  carnage — or  a  cart  that  we  could  drive  ourselves — 
and  take  the  box,  or  whatever  we  get,  to  Ringwood  or 
Lyndhurst  or  somewhere,  we  could  label  it  '  specimens,' 
don't  you  see? — Johnny,  I  believe  I've  hit  the  nail  at 
last." 

"  Well,  it  sounds  moi;e  feasible,"  admitted  John. 


"  Of  course,  we  must  take  assumed  names,"  continued 
Morris.  "  It  would  never  do  to  keep  our  own.  What  do 
you  say  to  '  Mastermau  '  itself  ?  It  sounds  quiet  and 
dignified." 

"  I  will  not  take  the  name  of  Masterman,"  returned  bis 
brother ;  "  you  may,  if  you  like.  I  shall  call  myself  Vance 
— the  Great  Vance ;  positively  the  last  six  nights.  There's 
some  go  in  a  name  like  that." 

"Vance  !  "  cried  Morris.  "Do  you  think  we  are  play- 
ing a  pantomime  for  our  amusement  ?  There  was  never 
anybody  named  Vance  who  wasn't  a  music-hall  singer." 

"That's  the  beauty  of  it,"  returned  John,  "  it  gives  you 
some  standing  at  once.  You  may  call  yourself  Fortescue 
till  all's  blue,  and  nobody  cares  ;  but  to  be  Vance  gives  a 
man  a  natural  nobility." 

"  But  there's  lots  of  other  theatrical  names,"  cried  Mor- 
ris.    "  Leybourne,  Irving,  Bx-ough,  Toole " 

"  Devil  a  one  will  I  take,"  returned  his  brother,  "  I  am 
going  to  have  my  little  lark  out  of  this  as  well  as  you." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Morris,  who  perceived  that  John  was 
determined  to  carry  his  point,  "I  shall  be  Robert  Vance." 

"  And  I  shall  be  George  Vance,"  cried  John,  "  the  only 
original  George  Vance !  Rally  round  the  only  orig- 
inal ! " 

Repairing  as  well  as  they  were  able  the  disoixicr  of  their 
clothes,  Finsbury  brothers  returned  to  Browndean  by  a 
circuitous  route  in  quest  of  luncheon  and  a  suitable  cot- 
tage.    It  is  not  always  easy  to  drop  at  a  moment's  notice 


IN    AVHICH    MORRIS    TAKER    ACTIOlV,  33 

on  a  furnislied  residence  in  a  retired  locality  ;  but  fortune 
presently  introduced  our  adventurers  to  a  deaf  carpenter, 
a  man  rich  in  cottages  of  the  required  description,  and  un- 
affectedly eager  to  supply  their  wants.  The  second  place 
they  visited,  standing,  as  it  did,  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  any  neighbors,  caused  them  to  exchange  a  glance  of 
hope.  On  a  nearer  view  the  place  was  not  without  depress- 
ing features.  It  stoo<l  in  a  marshy  looking  hollow  of  a 
heath  ;  tall  trees  obscured  its  windows  ;  the  thatch  visibly 
rotted  on  the  rafters  ;  and  the  walls  were  stained  with 
splashes  of  unwholesome  green.  The  rooms  were  small, 
the  ceilings  low,  the  furniture  merely  nominal ;  a  strange 
chill  and  a  haunting  smell  of  damp  pervaded  the  kitchen  ; 
and  the  bedroom  boasted  only  of  one  bed. 

Morris,  with  a  view  to  cheapening  the  place,  remarked 
on  this  defect. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  man,  "if  you  can't  sleep  two 
abed,  you'd  better  take  a  villa  residence." 

"And  then,"  pursued  Morris,  "there's  no  water;  how 
do  you  get  your  water  ?  " 

"We  fill  that  from  the  spring,"  replied  the  carpenter, 
pointing  to  a  big  barrel  that  stood  beside  the  door.  "The 
spring  ain't  so  very  far  oflf,  after  all,  and  it's  easy  brought 
in  buckets.     There's  a  bucket  there." 

Morris  nudged  his  brother  as  they  examined  the  water- 
butt  ;  it  was  new,  and  very  solidly  constructed  for  its 
office  ;  if  anything  had  been  wanting  to  decide  them,  this 
eminently  practicable  barrel  would  have  turned  the  scale. 


34  TUK    WRONG    BOX, 

A  bargain  was  promptly  struck,  the  month's  rent  was  paid 
upon  the  nail,  and  about  an  hour  later  Finsbury  brothers 
miglit  have  been  observed  returning  to  the  blighted  cot- 
tage, having  along  with  them  the  key,  which  was  the  sym- 
bol of  their  tenancy,  a  spirit-lamp,  with  which  they  fondly 
told  themselves  they  would  be  able  to  cook,  a  pork- pie  of 
suitable  dimensions,  and  a  quart  of  the  worst  whiskey  in 
Hampshire.  Nor  was  this  all  they  had  effected  ;  already 
(under  the  plea  that  they  were  landscape-painters)  they 
had  hired  for  dawn  on  the  morrow  a  light  but  solid  two- 
wheeled  cart ;  so  that,  when  they  entered  in  their  new 
character,  they  were  able  to  tell  themselves  that  the  back 
of  the  business  was  already  broken. 

John  proceeded  to  get  tea  ;  while  Morris,  foraging 
about  the  house,  was  presently  delighted  by  discovering 
the  lid  of  the  water-butt  ujdou  the  kitchen  shelf.  Here, 
then,  was  the  packing-case  comj^lete  ;  in  the  absence  of 
straw,  the  blankets  (which  he  himself,  at  least,  had  not  the 
smallest  intention  of  using  for  their  present  purpose) 
would  exactly  take  the  place  of  packing  ;  and  Morris,  as 
the  difficulties  began  to  vanish  from  his  path,  I'ose  almost 
to  the  brink  of  exultation.  There  was,  however,  one  dif- 
ficulty not  yet  faced,  one  upon  which  his  whole  scheme 
depended.  Would  John  consent  to  remain  alone  in  the 
cottage  ?     He  had  not  yet  dared  to  put  the  question. 

It  was  with  high  good  humor  that  the  pair  sat  down  to 
the  deal  table,  and  proceeded  to  fall  to  on  the  pork-pie. 
Morris  retailed  the  discovery  of  the  lid,  and  the  Great 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  35 

Vance  was  pleased  to  applaud  by   beating  on  the  table 
with  his  fork  in  true  music-hall  style. 

"  That's  the  dodge,"  he  cried.  "  I  always  said  a  water- 
butt  was  what  you  wanted  for  this  business." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Morris,  thinking  this  a  favorable  op- 
portunity to  prepare  his  brother,  "  of  course  you  must 
stay  on  in  this  place  till  I  give  the  word  ;  I'll  give  out 
that  uncle  is  resting  in  the  New  Forest.  It  would  not  do 
for  both  of  us  to  appear  in  London  ;  we  could  never  con- 
ceal the  absence  of  the  old  man." 

John's  jaw  dropped. 

"Oh,  come!"  he  cried.  "You  can  stay  in  this  hole 
yourself.     I  won't." 

The  color  came  into  Morris's  cheeks.  He  saw  that  he 
must  win  his  brother  at  any  cost. 

"You  must  please  remember,  Johnny,"  he  said,  "the 
amount  of  the  tontine.  If  I  succeed,  we  shall  have  each 
fifty  thousand  to  place  to  our  bank  account ;  ay,  and 
nearer  sixty." 

"  But  if  you  fail,"  returned  John,  "  what  then  ?  What'll 
be  the  color  of  our  bank  account  in  that  case  ?  " 

"I  will  pay  all  expenses,"  said  Morris,  with  an  inward 
struggle  ;  "  you  shall  lose  nothing." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  with  a  laugh,  "  if  the  ex-s  are  yours, 
and  half  profits  mine,  I  don't  mind  remaining  here  for  a 
couple  of  days." 

"  A  couple  of  days  !  "  cried  Morris,  who  was  beginning  to 
get  angry  and  controlled  himself  with  difficulty.     "  Why, 


36  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

you  would  do  more  to  win  five  pounds  on  a  horse 
race  !  " 

"  Perhaps  I  would,"  returned  the  Great  Vance  ;  "  it's 
the  artistic  temperament." 

"  This  is  monstrous  !  "  burst  out  Morris.  "  I  take  all 
risks  ;  I  pay  all  expenses  ;  I  divide  profits  ;  and  you  won't 
take  the  slightest  pains  to  help  me.  It's  not  decent ;  it's 
not  honest ;  it's  not  even  kind." 

"  But  suppose,"  objected  John,  who  was  considerably 
impressed  by  his  brother's  vehemence,  "suppose  that  Un- 
cle Masterman  is  alive  after  all,  and  lives  ten  years  longer ; 
must  I  rot  here  all  that  time  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  responded  Morris,  in  a  more  concilia- 
tory tone.  "  T  only  ask  a  mouth  at  the  outside  ;  and  if 
Uncle  Masterman  is  not  dead  by  that  time  you  can  go 
abroad  " 

"  Go  abroad  ?  "  repeated  John,  eagei'ly.  "  Why  shouldn't 
I  go  at  once  ?  Tell  'em  that  Joseph  and  I  are  seeing  life 
in  Paris." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Morris. 

"  Well,  but  look  here,"  said  John ;  "  it's  this  house,  it's 
such  a  pig-sty,  it's  so  dreary  and  damp.  You  said  your- 
self that  it  was  damp." 

"Only  to  the  carpenter,"  Morris  distinguished,  "and 
that  was  to  reduce  the  rent.  But  really  you  know,  now 
we're  in  it,  I've  seen  worse." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  complained  the  victim.  "  How 
can  I  entertain  a  friend?" 


IN    WHICH    MORRIS    TAKES    ACTION.  37 

"My  dear  Johnny,  if  you  don't  think  the  tontine  worth 
a  little  trouble,  say  so  ;  and  I'll  give  the  business  up." 

"  You're  dead  certain  of  the  figures,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked 
John.  "Well  " — with  a  deep  sigh — "send  me  the  Pink 
Un  and  all  the  comic  papers  regularly.  I'll  face  the 
music." 

As  afternoon  drew  on,  the  cottage  breathed  more  thrill- 
ingly  of  its  native  marsh  ;  a  creeping  chill  inhabited  its 
chambers  ;  the  fire  smoked  ;  and  a  shower  of  rain,  coming 
vip  from  the  channel  on  a  slant  of  wind,  tingled  on  the 
window-panes.  At  intervals,  when  the  gloom  deepened 
toward  desj)air,  Mon-is  would  produce  the  whiskey  bottle, 
and  at  first  John  welcomed  the  diversion — not  for  long. 
It  has  been  said  this  spirit  was  the  worst  in  Hamj)shire  ; 
only  those  acquainted  with  the  county  can  appreciate  the 
force  of  that  superlative ;  and  at  length  even  the  Gi-eat 
Vance  (who  was  no  connoisseur)  waved  the  decoction  from 
his  lips.  The  approach  of  dusk,  feebly  combated  with  a 
single  tallow  candle,  added  a  touch  of  tragedy  ;  and  John 
suddenly  stopped  whistling  through  his  fingers — an  art  to 
the  practice  of  which  he  had  been  reduced — and  bitterly 
lamented  his  concessions. 

"I  can't  stay  here  a  month,"  he  cried.  "No  one 
could.  The  thing's  nonsense,  Morris.  The  parties  that 
lived  in  the  Bastille  would  rise  against  a  place  Hke  this." 

With  an  admirable  affectation  of  indifference,  Morris 
proposed  a  game  of  pitch-and-toss.  To  what  will  not  the 
diplomatist  condescend  !     It  was  John's  favorite  game  ; 


38  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

iudecd,  his  only  game — he  had  found  all  the  rest  too  in- 
tellectual — and  he  played  it  with  equal  skill  and  good  for- 
tune. To  Morris  himself,  ou  the  other  hand,  the  whole 
business  was  detestable  ;  he  was  a  bad  pitcher,  he  had  no 
luck  in  tossing,  and  he  was  one  who  suffered  torments 
when  he  lost.  But  John  was  in  a  dangerous  humor,  and 
his  brother  was  prepared  for  any  sacrifice. 

By  seven  o'clock,  Morris,  with  incredible  agony,  had 
lost  a  couple  of  half-crowns.  Even  with  the  tontine  be- 
fore his  eyes,  this  was  as  much  as  he  could  bear  ;  and  re- 
marking that  he  would  take  his  revenge  some  other  time, 
he  proposed  a  bit  of  supper  and  a  grog. 

Before  they  had  made  an  end  of  this  refreshment,  it 
was  time  to  be  at  work.  A  bucket  of  water  for  present 
necessities  was  withdrawn  from  the  water-butt,  which 
was  then  emptied  and  rolled  before  the  kitchen  fire  to 
dry ;  and  the  two  brothers  set  forth  on  their  adventure 
under  a  starless  heaven. 


CHAPTER  m. 

THE    LECTURER    AT    LARGE. 

Whether  mankind  is  really  partial  to  happiness  is  au 
open  question.  Not  a  month  passes  by,  but  some  cher- 
ished son  runs  off  into  the  merchant  service,  or  some 
valued  husband  decamps  to  Texas  with  a  lady  help ; 
clergymen  have  fled  from  tlieir  parishioners  ;  and  even 
judges  have  been  known  to  retire.  To  an  open  mind,  it 
will  ajDpear  (upon  the  whole)  less  strange  that  Joseph 
Finsbury  should  have  been  led  to  entertain  ideas  of  es- 
cape. His  lot  (I  think  we  may  say)  was  not  a  happy  one. 
My  friend,  Mr.  Morris,  with  whom  I  travel  up  twice  or 
thrice  a  week  from  Snaresbrook  Park,  is  certainl}'  a  gen- 
tleman whom  I  esteem  ;  but  he  was  scarce  a  model 
nephew.  As  for  John,  he  is  of  course  au  excellent  fellow  ; 
but  if  he  was  the  only  link  that  bound  one  to  a  home,  I 
think  the  most  of  us  would  vote  for  foreign  travel.  In  the 
case  of  Joseph,  John  (if  he  were  a  link  at  all)  was  not  the 
only  one  ;  endearing  bonds  had  long  enchained  the  old 
gentleman  to  Bloomsbury  ;  and  by  these  expressions  I  do 
not  in  the  least  refer  to  Julia  Hazeltine  (of  whom,  how- 
ever, he  was  fond  enough),  but  to  that  collection  of  manu- 
script note-books  in  which  his  life  lay  buried.     That  he 


40  THE    WKONG    liOX. 

should  ever  have  made  up  his  mind  to  separate  himself 
fj-oiu  these  collectious,  and  go  forth  upon  the  world  with 
no  other  resources  than  his  memory  supplied,  is  a  circum- 
stance highly  pathetic  in  itself,  and  but  little  creditable  to 
the  wisdom  of  his  nephews. 

The  design,  or  at  least  the  temptation,  was  already  some 
months  old  ;  and  when  a  bill  for  eight  hundred  pounds, 
payable  to  himself,  was  suddenly  placed  in  Joseph's  hand, 
it  brought  matters  to  an  issue.  He  retained  that  bill, 
which,  to  one  of  his  frugality,  meant  wealth  ;  and  he 
promised  himself  to  disappear  among  the  crowds  at  Wat- 
erloo, or  (if  that  should  prove  impossible)  to  slink  out  of 
the  house  in  the  course  of  the  evening  and  melt  like  a 
dream  into  Ihe  millions  of  London.  By  a  jDeculiar  inter- 
position of  providence  and  railway  mismanagement,  he 
had  not  so  long  to  wait. 

He  was  one  of  the  first  to  come  to  liimself  and  scramble 
to  his  feet,  after  the  Brovvndean  catastrophe,  and  he  had 
no  sooner  remarked  his  prostrate  nephews,  than  he  un- 
derstood his  opportunity  and  fled.  A  man  of  upward  of 
seventy,  who  has  just  met  with  a  railway  accident, 
and  who  is  cumbered  besides  with  the  full  uniform 
of  Sir  Taraday  Bond,  is  not  very  likely  to  flee  far,  but  the 
wood  was  close  at  hand  and  offered  the  fugitive  at  least 
a  temporary  covert.  Hither,  then,  the  old  gentleman 
skipped  with  extraordinary  exi^edition,  and  being  some- 
what winded  and  a  good  deal  shaken,  here  he  lay  down  in 
a  convenient  grove  and  was  jDresently  overwhelmed  by 


THE    LECTUBEK    AT    LAKGE.  41 

slumber.  The  way  of  fate  is  often  highly  entertaining  to 
the  looker-on,  and  it  is  certainly  a  pleasant  circumstance, 
that  while  Morris  and  John  were  delving  in  the  sand  to 
conceal  the  body  of  a  total  stranger,  their  uncle  lay  in 
dreamless  sleep  a  few  hundred  yards  deeper  in  the  wood. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  jolly  note  of  a  bugle  from  the 
neighboring  highroad,  where  a  char-a-banc  was  bowling 
by  with  some  belated  tourists.  The  sound  cheered  his 
old  heart,  it  directed  his  steps  into  the  bargain,  and  soon 
he  was  on  the  highway,  looking  east  and  west  from  under 
his  vizor,  and  doubtfully  revolving  what  he  ought  to  do. 
A  delibex'ate  sound  of  wheels  arose  in  the  distance,  and 
then  a  cart  was  seen  approaching,  well  filled  with  parcels, 
driven  by  a  good-natured  looking  man  on  a  double  bench, 
and  displaying  on  a  board  the  legend,  "I.  Chandler,  car- 
rier." In  the  infamously  prosaic  mind  of  Mr.  Fiusbury, 
certain  streaks  of  poetry  survived  and  were  still  efficient ; 
they  had  carried  him  to  Asia  Minor  as  a  giddy  youth  of 
forty,  and  now,  in  the  first  hours  of  his  recovered  free- 
dom, they  suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  continuing  his 
flight  in  Mr.  Chandler's  cart.  It  would  be  cheap ;  proper- 
ly broached,  it  might  even  cost  nothing,  and  after  years 
of  mittens  and  hygienic  flannel,  his  heart  leaped  out  to 
meet  the  notion  of  exposure. 

Mr.  Chandler  was  perhaps  a  little  puzzled  to  find  so  old 
a  gentleman,  so  strangely  clothed,  and  begging  for  a  lift 
on  so  retired  a  roadside.  But  he  was  a  good-natured 
man,  glad  to  do  a  service,  and  so  he  took  the  stranger  up ; 


42  THK    WRONG    IJOX. 

and  he  had  his  own  idea  of  civility,  and  so  he  asked  no 
questions.  Silence,  in  fact,  was  quite  good  enough  for 
Mr.  Chandler ;  but  the  cart  had  scarcely  begun  to  move 
forward  ere  he  found  himself  involved  in  a  one-sided  con- 
versation. 

"I  can  see,"  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  "by  the  mixture  of 
parcels  and  boxes  that  are  contained  in  your  cart,  each 
marked  with  its  individual  label,  and  by  the  good  Flemish 
mare  you  drive,  that  you  occupy  the  post  of  carrier  in 
that  great  English  system  of  transport,  which,  with  all  its 
defects,  is  the  pride  of  our  country." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Chandler  vaguely,  for  he  hardly 
knew  what  to  reply,  "them  parcels'  posts  has  done  us 
carriers  a  world  of  harm." 

"I  am  not  a  prejudiced  man,"  continued  Joseph  Fins- 
bury.  "As  a  young  man  I  travelled  much.  Nothing  was 
too  small  or  too  obscure  for  me  to  acquire.  At  sea  I 
studied  seamanship,  learned  the  complicated  knots  em- 
ployed by  mariners,  and  acquired  the  technical  terms. 
At  Naples,  I  would  learn  the  art  of  making  macaroni ; 
at  Nice,  the  principles  of  making  candied  fruit.  I  never 
went  to  the  opera  without  first  buying  the  book  of  the 
piece,  and  making  myself  acquainted  with  the  principal 
airs  by  picking  them  out  on  the  piano  with  one  finger." 

"You  must  have  seen  a  deal,  sir,"  remarked  the  carrier, 
touching  up  his  horse  ;  "I  wish  I  could  have  had  your  ad« 
vantages." 

"Do  you  know  how  often  the  word  whip  occurs  in  the 


THE    LKCTDRER    AT    LARGE.  43 

old  Testafiaent?"  continued  the  old  gentleman.  "One 
hundred  and  (if  I  remember  exactly)  forty-seven  times." 

"Do  it  indeed,  sir?  "said  Mr.  Chandler.  "I  never 
should  have  thought  it." 

"The  Bible  contains  thx'ee  million  five  hundred  and  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-nine  letters.  Of  verses 
I  believe  there  are  upward  of  eighteen  thousand.  There 
have  been  many  editions  of  the  Bible  ;  Wiclif  was  the 
first  to  introduce  it  into  England,  about  the  year  1300. 
The  "  Paragraph  Bible,"  as  it  is  called,  is  a  well-known 
edition,  and  is  so  called  because  it  is  divided  into  para- 
graphs. The  "  Breeches  Bible "  is  another  well-known 
instance,  and  gets  its  name  either  because  it  was  printed 
by  one  Breeches,  or  because  the  place  of  publication  bore 
that  name." 

The  carrier  remarked  drily  that  he  thought  that  was 
only  natural,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  more  con- 
genial task  of  passing  a  cart  of  hay  ;  it  was  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty,  for  the  road  was  narrow,  and  there  was  a 
ditch  on  either  hand. 

"I  perceive,"  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  when  they  had  suc- 
cessfully passed  the  cart,  "  that  you  hold  your  reins  with 
one  hand  ;  you  should  employ  two." 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  "  cried  the  carrier,  contemptuously. 
"  Why  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  continued  Mr.  Finsbury. 
"  What  I  tell  you  is  a  scientific  fact,  and  reposes  on  the 
theory  of  the  lever,  a  branch  of  mechanics.     There  are 


44  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

some  very  interesting  little  sliilling-books  upon  the  field 
of  study,  which  I  should  think  a  man  in  youi*  station  would 
take  a  pleasure  to  read.  But  I  am  afraid  you  have  not 
cultivated  the  art  of  observation  ;  at  least  we  have  now 
di'iveu  together  for  some  time,  and  I  cannot  remember 
that  you  have  contributed  a  single  fact.  This  is  a  very 
false  principle,  my  good  man.  For  instance,  I  do  not 
know  if  you  observed  that  (as  you  passed  the  haj'-cart 
man)  you  took  your  left  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  cried  the  earner,  who  was  now  get- 
ting belligerent ;  "  he'd  have  the  law  on  me  if  I  hadn't." 

"  In  France,  now,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "  and  also,  I 
believe,  in  the  United  States  of  America,  you  would  have 
taken  the  right." 

"I  would  not,"  cried  Mr.  Chandler,  indignantly.  "I 
would  have  taken  the  left." 

"  I  observe,"  again  continued  Mr.  Finsbury,  scorning  to 
reply,  "  that  you  mend  the  dilapidated  parts  of  your  har- 
ness with  string.  I  have  always  protested  against  this 
carelessness  and  slovenliness  of  the  English  poor.  In 
an  essay  that  I  once  I'ead  before  an  appreciative  audi- 
ence  " 

"  It  ain't  string,"  said  the  carrier,  sullenly,  "  it's  pack- 
thread." 

"  I  have  always  protested,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "  that 
in  their  private  and  domestic  life,  as  well  as  in  their  labor- 
ing career,  the  lower  classes  of  this  country  are  improv- 
ident, thriftless,  and  extravagant.     A  stitch  in  time " 


THE   LECTURER    AT    LARGE,  45 

"  Who  the  devil  are  the  lower  classes  ?  "  cried  the  car- 
rier. "  You  are  the  lower  classes  yourself !  If  I  thought 
jou  were  a  blooming  aristocrat,  I  shouldn't  have  given 
you  a  lift." 

The  words  were  uttered  with  undisguised  ill-feehng ; 
it  was  plain  the  pair  were  not  congenial,  and  further  con- 
versation, even  to  one  of  Mr.  Finsbury's  pathetic  loquac- 
ity, was  out  of  the  question.  With  an  angry  gesture  he 
pulled  down  the  brim  of  the  forage-cap  over  his  eyes,  and 
producing  a  note-book  and  a  blue  pencil  from  one  of  his 
innermost  pockets,  soon  became  absorbed  in  calculations. 

On  his  part  the  carrier  fell  to  whistling  with  fresh  zest ; 
and  if  (now  and  again)  he  glanced  at  the  companion  of 
his  drive,  it  was  with  mingled  feelings  of  triumph  and 
alarm — triumph  because  he  had  succeeded  in  aiTesting 
that  prodigy  of  speech,  and  alarm  lest  (by  any  accident) 
it  should  begin  again.  Even  the  shower,  which  presently 
ovei'took  and  passed  them,  was  endured  by  both  in  si- 
lence ;  and  it  was  still  in  silence  that  they  drove  at  length 
into  Southampton. 

Dusk  had  fallen  ;  the  shop  windows  glimmered  forth 
into  the  streets  of  the  old  seaport  ;  in  private  houses 
lights  were  kindled  for  the  evening  meal ;  and  Mr.  Fins- 
bury  began  to  think  complacently  of  his  night's  lodging. 
He  put  his  papers  by,  cleared  his  throat,  and  looked 
doubtfully  at  Mr.  Chandler. 

"Will  you  be  civil  enough,"  said  he,  "to  recommend 
me  to  an  inn." 


4G  THE    WRONG    DoX. 

Mr.  Chandler  pondered  for  a  moment 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  wonder  how  about  the 
'Tregonwell  Ai'ms.'" 

"The  'Tregonwell  Arms' will  do  very  well,"  returned 
the  old  man,  "  if  it's  clean  and  cheap,  and  the  jDCople 
civil." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  you,"  returned  Mi-. 
Chandler,  thoughtfully.  "I  was  thinking  of  my  friend 
Watts  as  keeps  the  'ouse  ;  he's  a  friend  of  mine,  you 
see,  and  he  helped  me  through  my  trouble  last  year. 
And  I  was  thinking,  would  it  be  fair-like  on  Watts  to 
saddle  him  with  an  old  party  like  you,  who  might  be  the 
death  of  him  with  general  information.  Would  it  be 
fair  to  the  'ouse  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Chandler,  with  an  air  of 
candid  appeal. 

"  Mark  me,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  with  spirit.  "  It 
was  kind  in  you  to  bring  me  here  for  nothing,  but  it  gives 
you  no  right  to  address  me  in  such  terms.  Here's  a  shil- 
ling for  yom-  trouble  ;  and  if  you  do  not  choose  to  set  me 
down  at  the  '  Tregonwell  Ai'ms,'I  can  find  it  for  myself." 

Chandler  was  surprised  and  a  little  startled  ;  mutter- 
ing something  apologetic,  he  returned  the  shilling,  drove 
in  silence  tbi'ough  several  intricate  lanes  and  small  streets, 
drew  up  at  length  before  the  bright  windows  of  an  inn, 
ami  called  loudly  for  "Mr.  Watts" 

"Is  that  you,  Jem?"  cried  a  hearty  voice  from  the 
stableyard.     "  Come  in  and  warm  yourself." 

"  I  only  stopjied  here,"  Mr.  Chandler  explained,  "  to  let 


THE    LECTUREE    AT    LARGE.  47 

down  au  old  gent  what  wants  food  and  lodging.     Mind,  I 
warn  you  agin  him  ;  he's  worse  nor  a  temperance  lecturer." 

Mr.  Finsbury  dismounted  with  difficulty,  for  he  was 
cramped  with  his  long  drive,  and  the  shaking  he  had  re- 
ceived in  the  accident.  The  friendly  Mr.  Watts,  in  spite 
of  the  carter's  scarcely  agreeable  introduction,  treated  the 
old  gentleman  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  and  led  him  into 
the  back  parlor,  where  there  was  a  big  fire  burning  in  the 
grate.  Presently  a  table  was  spread  in  the  same  room, 
and  he  was  invited  to  seat  himself  before  a  stewed  fowl 
— somewhat  the  worse  for  having  seen  service  before — 
and  a  big  pewter  mug  of  ale  from  the  tap. 

He  rose  from  supper  a  giant  refreshed  ;  and  changing 
his  seat  to  one  nearer  the  fire,  began  to  examine  the  other 
guests  with  an  eye  to  the  delights  of  oratory.  There  were 
near  a  dozen  present,  all  men,  and  (as  Josej^h  exulted  to 
perceive)  all  working-men.  Often  already  had  he  seen 
cause  to  bless  that  appetite  for  disconnected  fact  and  ro- 
tatory argument,  which  is  so  marked  a  character  of  the 
mechanic.  But  even  an  audience  of  working-men  has  to 
be  courted,  and  there  was  no  man  more  deeply  versed  in 
the  necessary  arts  than  Joseph  Finsbury.  He  placed  his 
glasses  on  his  nose,  drew  from  his  pocket  a  bundle  of 
papers,  and  spread  them  before  him  on  a  table.  He 
crumpled  them,  he  smoothed  them  out ;  now  he  skimmed 
them  over,  apparently  well  pleased  with  their  contents  ; 
now,  with  tapping  pencil  and  contracted  brows,  be  seemed 
maturely    to    consider    some    particular    atatement.      A 


■iS  THE    AVIiOXG    BOX. 

stealthy  glance  about  the  room  assured  him  of  the  su& 
cess  of  his  manoeuvres  ;  all  eyes  were  turned  on  the  per- 
former, mouths  were  open,  pipes  hung  suspended  ;  the 
birds  were  charmed.  At  the  same  moment  the  entrance 
of  Mr.  Watts  afforded  him  an  opportunity. 

"  I  observe,"  said  he,  addressing  the  landlord,  but  tak- 
ing at  the  same  time  the  whole  room  into  his  confidence 
with  an  encouraging  look,  "  I  observe  that  some  of  these 
gentlemen  are  looking  with  curiosity  in  my  direction  ; 
and  certainly  it  is  unusual  to  see  anyone  immersed  in  liter- 
ary and  scientific  labors  in  the  public  apartment  of  an  inn. 
I  have  here  some  calculations  I  made  this  morning  upon 
the  cost  of  living  in  this  and  other  countries — a  subject,  I 
need  scarcely  say,  highly  interesting  to  the  working  classes. 
I  have  calculated  a  scale  of  living  for  incomes  of  eighty, 
one  hundred  and  sixty,  two  hundred,  and  two  hundred 
and  forty  pounds  a  year.  I  must  confess  that  the  income 
of  eighty  pounds  has  somewhat  baffled  me,  and  the  others 
are  not  so  exact  as  I  could  wish  ;  for  the  price  of  washing 
varies  largely  in  foreign  countries,  and  the  different  cokes, 
coals,  and  firewoods  fluctuate  surprisingly.  I  will  read  my 
researches,  and  I  hope  you  won't  scruple  to  point  out  to 
me  any  little  errors  that  I  may  have  committed  either 
from  oversight  or  ignorance.  I  will  begin,  gentlemen, 
with  the  income  of  eighty  pounds  a  year." 

Whereupon  the  old  gentleman,  with  less  compassion 
than  he  would  have  had  for  brute  beasts,  delivered  him- 
self of  all  his  tedious  calculations.     As  he  occasionally 


THE    LECTDRER    AT    LARGE.  49 

gave  nine  versions  of  a  single  income,  placing  the  imagin- 
ary person  in  London,  Paris,  Bagdad,  Spitzbergen,  Bas- 
sorab,  Heligoland,  the  Scilly  Islands,  Brighton,  Cincinnati, 
and  Nijni-Novgorod,  with  an  appropriate  outfit  for  each 
locality,  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  hearers  look  back  on  that 
evening  as  the  most  tiresome  they  ever  spent. 

Long  before  Mr.  Finsbury  had  reached  Nijni-Novgorod 
with  the  income  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  the 
company  had  dwindled  and  faded  away  to  a  few  old  topers 
and  the  bored  but  affable  Watts.  There  was  a  constant 
stream  of  customers  from  the  outer  world,  but  so  soon  as 
they  were  served  they  drank  their  liquor  quickly,  and  de- 
parted with  the  utmost  celerity  for  the  next  public-house. 

By  the  time  the  young  man  with  two  hundred  a  year 
was  vegetating  in  the  Scilly  Islands,  Mr.  Watts  was  left 
alone  with  the  economist ;  and  that  imaginary  person  had 
scarce  commenced  life  at  Brighton  before  the  last  of  his 
pursuers  desisted  from  the  chase. 

Mr.  Finsbury  slept  soundly  after  the  manifold  fatigues 

of  the  day.     He  rose  late,   and  after  a  good  breakfast, 

ordered  the  bill.     Then  it  was  that  he  made  a  discovery 

which  has  been  made  by  many  others,  both  before  and 

since :  that  it  is  one  thing  to  order  your  bill,  and  another 

to  discharge  it.     The  items  were  moderate  and  (what  does 

not  always   follow)  the   total  small  ;    but  after  the  most 

sedulous  review  of  all  his  pockets,  one  and  nine  pence 

halfpenny  appeared  to  be  the  total  of  the  old  gentleman's 

available  assets.     He  asked  to  see  Mr.  Watts. 
4 


5U  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"  Here  is  a  bill  on  London  for  eight  hnndretl  pounds,' 
said  Mr.  Finsbury,  as  that  worthy  appeared.  "  I  urn  afraid 
unless  you  choose  to  discount  it  yourself,  it  may  detain  me 
a  day  or  two  till  I  can  get  it  cashed." 

Mr.  Watts  looked  at  the  bill,  turned  it  over,  and  dogs- 
eared  it  with  his  fingers.  "  It  will  lieep  you  a  day  or 
two  ? "  he  said,  repeating  the  old  man's  words.  "  You 
have  no  other  money  with  you?  " 

"Some  trifling  change,"  responded  Joseph.  "  Nothing 
to  speak  of." 

"Then  you  can  send  it  me  ;  I  should  be  jDleased  to 
trust  you." 

"To  tell  the  ti'uth,"  answered  the  old  gentleman,  "I 
am  more  than  half  inclined  to  stay ;  I  am  in  need  of 
funds." 

"If  a  loan  of  ten  shillings  would  help  you,  it  is  at  your 
service,"  responded  Watts,  with  eagerness. 

"No,  I  think  I  would  rather  stay,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  and  get  my  bill  discounted." 

"  You  shall  not  stay  in  my  house,"  cried  Mr.  Watts. 
"  This  is  the  last  time  you  shall  have  a  bed  at  the  '  Tregon- 
well  Arms.' " 

"I  insist  upon  remaining,"  replied  Mr.  Finsbury,  with 
spirit ;  "I  remain  by  Act  of  Parliament;  turn  me  out  if 
vou  dare." 

"  Then  pay  your  bill,"  said  Mr.  Watts. 

"  Take  that,"  cried  the  old  man,  tossing  him  the  nego- 
tiable biU. 


THE   LKCTURER    AT    LARGE,  51 

"It  is  not  legal  tender,"  replied  Mr.  Watts.  "You 
must  leave  my  house  at  once." 

"  You  cannot  apiDreciate  the  contempt  I  feel  for  you, 
Mr.  Watts,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  resigning  himself  to 
circumstances.  "  But  you  shall  feel  it  in  one  way  ;  I  re- 
fuse to  pay  my  bill." 

"I  don't  care  for  3'our  bill,"  resj)onded  Mr.  Watts. 
"  What  I  want  is  your  absence," 

"That  you  shall  have!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  and 
taking  up  his  foi-age-cap  as  he  spoke,  he  crammed  it  on 
his  head.  "  Perhaps  you  are  too  insolent,"  he  added,  "  to 
inform  me  of  the  time  of  the  next  London  train  ?  " 

"  It  leaves  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour,"  returned  the 
inn-keeper,  with  alacrity.     "You  can  easily  catch  it." 

Joseph's  position  was  one  of  considerable  weakness. 
On  the  one  hand,  it  would  have  been  well  to  avoid  the  di- 
rect line  of  railway,  since  it  was  there  he  might  expect 
his  nephews  to  lie  in  wait  for  his  recapture  ;  on  the 
other,  it  was  highly  desirable,  it  was  even  strictly  needful, 
to  get  the  bill  discounted  ere  it  should  be  stopped.  To 
London,  therefore,  he  decided  to  proceed  on  the  first 
train  ;  and  there  remained  but  one  point  to  be  considered, 
how  to  pay  his  fare. 

Joseph's  nails  were  never  clean,  he  ate  almost  entirely 
with  his  knife.  I  doubt  if  you  could  say  he  had  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman  ;  but  he  had  better  than  that,  a 
touch  of  genuine  dignity.  Was  it  from  his  stay  in  Asia 
Minor  ?     Was  it  from  a  strain  in  the   Finsbury    blood 


62  THK    WRONG    BOX. 

sometimes  alluded  to  by  customers  ?  At  least,  when  ho 
presented  himself  before  the  station-master,  his  salaam 
was  truly  oriental,  palm-trees  appeared  to  crowd  about 
the  little  office,  and  the  simoom  or  the  bulbul — but  I  leave 
this  image  to  persons  better  acquainted  with  the  East. 
His  appearance,  besides,  was  highly  in  his  favor  ;  the  uni- 
form of  Sir  Faraday,  however  inconvenient  and  conspicu- 
ous, was,  at  least,  a  costume  in  which  no  swindler  could 
have  hoped  to  prosper  ;  and  the  exhibition  of  a  valuable 
watch  and  a  bill  for  eight  hundred  pounds  completed 
what  deportment  had  begun.  Quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
when  the  train  came  up,  Mr.  Fiusbury  was  introduced  to 
the  guard  and  installed  in  a  first-class  compartment,  the 
station-master  smiliugly  assuming  all  responsibility. 

As  the  old  gentleman  sat  waiting  the  moment  of  de- 
parture, he  was  the  witness  of  an  incident  strangely  con- 
nected with  the  fortunes  of  his  house.  A  packing-case 
of  Cyclopean  bulk  was  borne  along  the  platform  by  some 
dozen  of  tottering  porters,  and  ultimately,  to  the  delight 
of  a  considerable  crowd,  hoisted  on  board  the  van.  It  is 
often  the  cheering  task  of  the  historian  to  direct  attention 
to  the  designs  and  (if  it  may  be  reverently  said)  the  ar- 
tifices of  Providence.  In  the  luggage  van,  as  Joseph  was 
borne  out  of  the  station  of  Southampton  East  upon  his 
way  to  London,  the  egg  of  this  romance  lay  (so  to  speak) 
unhatched.  The  huge  packing-case  was  directed  "  to  lie 
at  Waterloo  till  called  for,"  and  addressed  to  one  "  Will- 
iam Dent  Pitman  ; "  and  the  verj^  next  article,  a  goodly 


THE    LECTUKKK    AT    LARGE.  53 

barrel  jammed  into  the  corner  of  the  van,  bore  the  super- 
scription "M.  Finsbury,  16  John  Street,  Bloomsbury. 
Carriage  paid." 

Jlu  this  juxtaposition,  the  train  of  powder  was  prepared  ; 
and  there  was  now  wanting  only  an  idle  hand  to  fire  it 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   MAGISTRATE    IN   THE   LUGGAGE   VAN. 

The  city  of  Winchester  is  famed  for  a  cathedral,  a 
bishop — but  he  was  unfortunately  killed  some  years  ago 
while  riding — a  public  school,  a  considerable  assortment 
of  the  military,  and  the  deliberate  passage  of  the  trains 
on  the  London  and  South  Western  line.  These  and  many 
similar  associations  would  have  doubtless  crowded  on  the 
mind  of  Joseph  Finsbury  ;  but  his  spirit  had  at  that  time 
flitted  from  the  railway'  compartment  to  a  heaven  of  popu- 
lous lecture-halls  and  endless  oratox'y.  His  bod}',  in  the 
meanwhile,  lay  doubled  on  the  cushions,  the  forage-cap 
rakishly  tilted  back  after  the  fashion  of  those  that  lie  in 
wait  for  nursery-maids,  the  poor  old  face  quiescent,  one 
arm  clutching  to  his  heart  Lloyd's  Weekly  Newx'paper. 

To  him,  thus  unconscious,  enter  and  exeunt  again  a 
pair  of  voyagers.  These  two  had  saved  the  train  and  no 
more.  A  tandem  urged  to  its  last  speed,  an  act  of  some- 
thing closely  bordering  on  brigandage  at  the  ticket  office, 
and  a  spasm  of  running,  had  brought  them  on  the  plat- 
form just  as  the  engine  uttered  its  departing  snort.  There 
was  but  one  carriage  easily  within  their  reach  ;  and  they 
had  sprung  into  it,  and  the  leader  and  elder  ah'eady  had 


THE    MAGISTRATE    IN   THE    LUGGAGE    VAN.  55 

bis  feet  upon  the  floor,  when  he  observed  Mr.  Fins- 
bury. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  Uncle  Joseph  !  This'll  never 
do." 

And  he  backed  out,  almost  upsetting  his  companion, 
and  once  more  closed  the  door  upon  the  sleeping  patri- 
arch. 

The  next  moment  the  pair  had  jumped  into  the  bag- 
gage van. 

"  What's  the  row  about  your  Uncle  Joseph?  "  inquired 
the  younger  traveller,  mopping  his  brow.  "  Does  he  ob- 
ject to  smoking  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  the  row  with  him," 
returned  the  other.  "  He's  by  no  means  the  first  comer, 
my  Uncle  Joseph,  I  can  tell  you  !  Very  respectable  old 
gentleman  ;  interested  in  leather  ;  been  to  Asia  Minor  ; 
no  family,  no  assets — and  a  tongue,  my  dear  Wickham, 
sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth." 

"  Cantankerous  old  party,  eh  ?  "  suggested  Wickham. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  cried  the  other  ;  "only  a  man  with 
a  solid  talent  for  being  a  bore  ;  rather  cheery,  I  dare  say, 
on  a  desert  island,  but  on  a  railway  journey,  insupportable. 
You  should  hear  him  on  Tonti,  the  ass  that  started  ton- 
tines.    He's  incredible  on  Tonti." 

"By  Jove  !  "  cried  Wickham,  "then  you're  one  of  these 
Finsbury  tontine  fellows.     I  hadn't  a  guess  of  that." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  other,  "  do  you  know,  that  old  boy  in 
the  carriage  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  to  me  ? 


66  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

There  he  was  asleep,  and  nobody  there  but  you  !  But  1 
spared  him,  because  I'm  a  conservative  in  politics." 

Mr.  Wickham,  pleased  to  be  in  a  luggage  van,  was  flit- 
ting to  and  fro  like  a  gentlemanly  butterfly. 

"  By  Jingo  !  "  he  cried,  "  here's  something  for  you  ! 
*'M.  Finsbury,  16  John  Street,  Bloomsbury,  Loudon.'  M. 
stands  for  Michael,  you  sly  dog  ;  you  keep  two  establish- 
ments, do  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  that's  Morris,"  responded  Michael  from  the  other 
end  of  the  van,  where  he  had  found  a  comfortable  seat 
upon  some  sacks.  "He's  a  little  cousin  of  mine.  I  like 
him  myself,  because  he's  afraid  of  me.  He's  one  of  the 
ornaments  of  Bloomsbury,  and  has  a  collection  of  some 
kind — birds'  eggs  or  something — 'that's  supposed  to  be 
curious.     I  bet  it's  nothing  to  my  clients  !  " 

"  What  a  lark  it  would  be  to  play  billy  with  the  labels  ! " 
chuckled  IVIr.  Wickham.  "  By  George,  here's  a  tack- 
hammer  !  We  might  send  all  these  things  skipping  about 
the  premises  like  what's-his-name  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  guard,  surprised  by  the  sound  of 
voices,  opened  the  door  of  his  little  cabin. 

"  You  had  best  step  in  here,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  when 
he  had  heard  their  story. 

"  Won't  you  come,  Wickham  ?  "  asked  IMichael. 

"  Catch  me — I  want  to  travel  in  a  van,"  replied  the 
youth. 

And  so  the  door  of  communication  was  closed  ;  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  run  Mr.  Wickham  was  left  alone  over  his 


THE   MAGISTRATE    EN   THE   LUGGAGE   VAN.  57 

diversions  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other  Michael  and 
the  guard  were  closeted  together  in  familiar  talk. 

"  I  can  get  you  a  compartment  here,  sir,"  observed  the 
official,  as  the  train  began  to  slacken  speed  before  Bishop- 
stoke  station.  "  You  had  best  get  out  at  my  door,  and  I 
can  bring  your  friend." 

Mr.  Wickham,  whom  we  left  (as  the  reader  has  shrewdly 
suspected)  beginning  to  "  play  billy  "  with  the  labels  in 
the  van,  was  a  young  gentleman  of  much  wealth,  a  pleas- 
ing but  sandy  exterior,  and  a  highly  vacant  mind.  Not 
many  months  before,  he  had  contrived  to  get  himself 
black-mailed  by  the  family  of  a  Wallachian  Hospodar, 
resident  for  political  reasons  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris.  A 
common  friend  (to  whom  he  had  confided  his  distress) 
recommended  him  to  Michael  ;  and  the  lawyer  was  no 
sooner  in  possession  of  the  facts,  than  he  instantly  as- 
sumed the  offensive,  fell  on  the  flank  of  the  Wallachian 
forces,  and  in  the  inside  of  three  days,  had  the  satisfaction 
to  behold  them  routed  and  fleeing  for  the  Danube.  It  is 
no  business  of  ours  to  follow  them  on  this  retreat,  over 
which  the  police  were  so  obliging  as  to  preside  paternally. 
Thus  relieved  from  what  he  loved  to  refer  to  as  the  Bul- 
garian Atrocity,  ]Mi'.  "VVickham  returned  to  London  with 
the  most  unbounded  and  emban-assing  gratitude  and  ad- 
miration for  his  savior.  These  sentiments  were  not  re- 
paid either  in  kind  or  degree  ;  indeed,  Michael  was  a 
trifle  ashamed  of  his  new  client's  friendship  ;  it  had  taken 
many  invitations  to  get  him  to  Winchester  and  Wickham 


68  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

Manor  ;  but  he  had  gone  at  last,  and  was  now  returning. 
It  has  been  remarked  by  some  judicious  thinker  (possibly 
J.  F.  Smith)  that  Providence  despises  to  employ  no  in- 
strument, however  humble  ;  and  it  is  now  plain  to  the 
dullest  that  both  Mr.  Wickham  and  the  Wallachian  Hos- 
podar  were  liquid  lead  and  wedges  in  the  hand  of  des- 
tiny. 

Smitten  with  the  desii-e  to  shine  in  Michael's  eyes  and 
show  himself  a  person  of  original  humor  and  resources, 
the  young  gentleman  (who  was  a  magistrate,  more  by 
token,  in  his  native  county)  was  no  sooner  alone  in  the 
van,  than  he  fell  upon  the  labels  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  re- 
former ;  and  when  he  rejoined  the  lawyer  at  Bishopstoke, 
his  face  was  flushed  with  his  exertions,  and  his  cigar, 
■which  he  had  suffei-ed  to  go  out,  was  almost  bitten  in  two. 

" By  George,  but  this  has  been  a  lark  !  "  he  cried.  "I've 
sent  the  wrong  thing  to  eveiybody  in  England.  These 
cousins  of  yours  have  a  packing-case  as  big  as  a  house. 
I've  muddled  the  whole  business  up  to  that  extent,  Fins- 
bury,  that  if  it  wei-e  to  get  out,  it's  my  belief  we  should 
be  lynched." 

It  was  useless  to  be  serious  with  IMi'.  Wickham.  "Take 
care,"  said  Michael.  "  I  am  getting  tired  of  your  perpet- 
ual scrapes  ;  my  reputation  is  beginning  to  suffer." 

"Your  reputation  will  be  all  gone  before  you  finish  with 
me,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a  grin.  "Clap  it  in  the 
bill,  my  boy.  '  For  total  loss  of  reputation,  six  and  eight- 
pence.'    But,"  continued  Mr.  "Wickham,  with  more  serious- 


THE    MAGISTRATE    IN    THE    LUGGAGE    VAN,  59 

ness,  "  could  I  be  bowled  out  of  the  Commission  for  this 
little  jest  ?  I  know  it's  small,  but  I  like  to  be  a  J.  P. 
Speaking  as  a  professional  man,  do  you  think  there's  any 
risk?" 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  responded  Michael.  "  They'll 
chuck  you  out  sooner  or  later.  Somehow  you  don't  give 
the  effect  of  being  a  good  magistrate." 

"  I  only  wish  I  was  a  solicitor,  "  retorted  his  companion, 
"  instead  of  a  poor  devil  of  a  country  gentleman.  Suppose 
we  start  one  of  those  tontine  affairs  ourselves  ;  I  to  pay 
five  hundred  a  year,  and  you  to  guarantee  me  against 
every  misfortune  except  illness  or  marriage." 

"  It  strikes  me,"  remarked  the  lawyer  with  a  meditative 
laugh,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar  ;  "  it  strikes  me  that  you  must 
be  a  cursed  nuisance  in  this  world  of  oiu's." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Finsbury  ? "  responded  the 
magistrate,  leaning  back  in  his  cushions,  delighted  with 
the  compliment.  "Yes,  I  suppose  I  am  a  nuisance.  But 
mind  you,  I  have  a  stake  in  the  country  :  dou't  forget  that, 
dear  boy," 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.    GIDEON   FOKSYTH   AND   THE   GIGANTIC   BOX. 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  at  Bournemoiath  Julia  some- 
times made  acquaintances  ;  it  is  true  she  had  but  a  ghmi^se 
of  them  before  the  doors  of  John  Street  closed  again  upon 
its  captives,  but  the  glimpse  ^Yas  sometimes  exhilara- 
ting, and  the  consequent  regret  was  tempered  with  hope. 
Among  those  whom  she  had  thus  met  a  year  before,  was  a 
young  banister  of  the  name  of  Gideon  Forsyth. 

About  three  o'clock  of  the  eventful  day  when  the  magis- 
trate tampered  with  the  labels,  a  somewhat  moody  and 
distempered  ramble  had  carried  Mr.  Forsyth  to  the  corner 
of  John  Street ;  and  about  the  same  moment  Miss  Hazel- 
tine  was  called  to  the  door  of  No.  16  by  a  thundering 
double  knock. 

Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  was  a  happy  enough  young  man  ; 
he  would  have  been  happier  if  he  had  had  more  money  and 
less  uncle.  One  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year  was 
all  his  store  ;  but  his  uncle,  IVIi-.  Edward  Hugh  Bloom- 
field,  supplemented  this  with  a  handsome  allowance  and  a 
great  deal  of  advice,  couched  in  language  that  would 
probably  have  been  judged  intemperate  on  board  a  pirate 
ship.     IVIr.   Bloomfield  was  indeed  a  figure  quite  pecuhar 


MR.    GIDEON    FOKSYTU    AND    THE    GIGANTIC    BOX.       01 

to  the  days  of  Mr.  Gladstone  ;  what  we  may  call  (for  the 
lack  of  an  accepted  expression)  a  Squirradical.  Having 
acquired  years  without  experience,  he  carried  into  the 
radical  side  of  politics  those  noisy,  after  dinner-table  pas- 
sions, which  we  are  more  accustomed  to  connect  witli 
toryism  in  its  severe  and  senile  aspects.  To  the  opinions 
of  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  in  fact,  he  added  the  temper  and  the 
sympathies  of  that  extinct  animal,  the  Squire.  He  ad- 
mired pugilism,  he  carried  a  formidable  oaken  staff,  he 
was  a  reverent  churchman,  and  it  was  hard  to  know  which 
would  have  more  volcanically  stirred  his  choler — a  person 
who  should  have  defended  the  established  church,  or  one 
who  should  have  neglected  to  attend  its  celebrations.  He 
had  besides  some  levelling  catch-words,  justly  dreaded  in 
the  family  circle  ;  and  when  he  could  not  go  so  far  as  to 
declare  a  step  Un-English,  he  might  still  (and  with  hardly 
less  effect)  denounce  it  as  Unpractical.  It  was  under  the 
ban  of  this  lesser  excommunication  that  Gideon  had  fallen. 
His  views  on  the  study  of  law  had  been  pronounced  un- 
practical ;  and  it  had  been  intimated  to  him,  in  a  vocifer- 
ous interview  punctuated  with  the  oaken  staff,  that  he  must 
either  take  a  new  start  and  get  a  brief  or  two,  or  prepare 
to  hve  on  his  own  money. 

No  wonder  if  Gideon  was  moody.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  wish  to  modify  his  present  habits  ;  but  he  would 
not  stand  on  that,  since  the  recall  of  Mr.  Bloomfield's  al- 
lowance would  revolutionize  them  still  more  radically. 
He  had  not  the  least  desire  to  acquaint  himself  with  law  ; 


02  THK    WRONCi     BOX. 

he  had  looked  into  it  ah'ead}',  and  it  seemed  not  to  repay 
attention  ;  but  upon  this  also  he  was  ready  to  give  way. 
In  fact,  he  -would  go  as  far  as  he  could  to  meet  the  views 
of  his  uncle,  the  squirradical.  But  there  was  one  part  of 
the  programme  that  appeared  independent  of  his  will. 
How  to  get  a  brief  ?  there  was  the  question.  And  there 
was  another  and  a  worse.  Suppose  he  got  one,  should  he 
prove  the  better  man  ? 

Suddenly  he  found  his  way  barred  by  a  crowd,  A  gar- 
ishly illuminated  van  was  backed  against  the  kerb  ;  from 
its  open  stern,  half  resting  on  the  street,  half  supported 
by  some  glistening  athletes,  the  end  of  the  largest  packing- 
case  in  the  county  of  Middlesex  might  have  been  seen 
protruding  ;  while  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  the  burly  jjer- 
son  of  the  driver  and  the  slim  figure  of  a  young  girl  stood 
as  upon  a  stage,  disputing. 

"It  is  not  for  us,"  the  girl  was  saying,  "I  beg  you  to 
take  it  away  ;  it  couldn't  get  into  the  house,  even  if  you 
managed  to  get  it  out  of  the  van." 

"I  shall  leave  it  on  the  pavement,  then,  and  j\I.  Finsbury 
can  aiTange  with  the  Vestry  as  he  likes,"  said  the  vau- 
man. 

"But  I  am  not  M.  Finsbuiy,"  expostulated  the  girl. 

"It  doesn't  matter  who  you  are,"  said  the  van-man. 

"You  must  allow  me  to  help  you.  Miss  Hazeltine,"  said 
Gideon,  putting  out  his  hand, 

Julia  gave  a  little  cry  of  pleasure.  "  Oh,  Mr,  Forsyth," 
she  cried,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ;  we  must  get  this 


MR.  GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    GIGAXTIO    BOX.       0-3 

horrid  thing,  which  can  only  have  come  here  by  mistake, 
into  the  house.  The  man  says  we'll  have  to  take  off  the 
door,  or  knock  two  of  our  windows  into  one,  or  be  fined 
by  the  Vestry  or  Custom  House  or  something,  for  leaving 
our  parcels  on  the  pavement." 

The  men,  by  this  time,  had  successfully  removed  the 
box  from  the  van,  had  plumped  it  down  on  the  pavement, 
and  now  stood  leaning  against  it,  or  gazing  at  the  door  of 
No.  16,  in  visible  physical  distress  and  mental  embar- 
rassment. The  windows  of  the  whole  street  had  filled,  as 
if  by  magic,  with  interested  and  entertained  spectators. 

"With  as  thoughtful  and  scientific  an  expression  as  he 
could  assume,  Gideon  measured  the  doorway  with  his 
cane,  while  JuUa  entered  his  observations  in  a  drawing- 
book.  He  then  measured  the  box,  and,  upon  comparing 
his  data,  found  that  there  was  just  enough  space  for  it  to 
enter.  Next,  throwing  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  he  as- 
sisted the  men  to  take  the  door  from  its  hinges.  And 
lastly,  all  by-standers  being  pressed  into  the  service,  the 
packing-case  mounted  the  steps  upon  some  fifteen  pairs 
of  wavering  legs — scraped,  loudly  gi'inding,  through  the 
dooi'way — and  was  deposited  at  length,  with  a  formidable 
convulsion,  in  the  far  end  of  the  lobby,  which  it  almost 
blocked  The  artisans  of  this  victory  smiled  upon  each 
other  as  the  dust  subsided.  It  was  true  they  had  smashed 
a  bust  of  Apollo  and  ploughed  the  wall  into  deep  ruts  ; 
but,  at  least,  they  were  no  longer  one  of  the  public  spec- 
tacles of  London. 


C4  THE    AVKON'O    BOX. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  tlio  vau-man,  "I  never  see  such  a 
job." 

Gideon  eloquently  expressed  his  concurrence  in  tins 
sentiment  by  pressing  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in  the  man's 
hand. 

"Make  it  three,  sir,  and  I'll  stand  Sam  to  everybody 
here  !  "  cried  the  latter  ;  and  this  having  been  done,  the 
whole  body  of  volunteer  porters  swarmed  into  the  van, 
which  drove  off  iu  the  direction  of  the  nearest  reliable 
public-house.  Gideon  closed  the  door  on  their  departure 
and  turned  to  Julia :  their  eyes  met ;  the  most  uncon- 
trollable mirth  seized  upon  them  both,  and  they  made  the 
house  ring  with  their  laughter.  Then  curiosity  awoke  iu 
Julia's  mind,  and  she  went  and  examined  the  box,  and 
more  especially  the  label. 

"This  is  the  strangest  thing  that  ever  happened,"  she 
said,  with  another  burst  of  laughter.  "It  is  certainly 
Morris's  handwriting,  and  I  had  a  letter  from  him  only 
this  morning  telling  me  to  expect  a  barrel.  Is  there  a 
barrel  coming,  too,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Forsyth  ?  " 

"Statuary  with  Care,  Fragile,"  read  Gideon  aloud  from 
the  painted  warning  on  the  box.  "  Then  you  were  told 
nothing  about  this  ?  " 

"No,"  responded  Julia.  "Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth,  don't  you 
think  we  might  take  a  peep  at  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Gideon.  "  Just  let  me  have  a 
hammer." 

"  Come  down,   and  I'll  show  3'ou  where   it  is,"  cried 


ME.  CUDEOX    FORSYTH    AND    TTIE    GIG  ANTIC    BOX.         G5 

Julia,  "  the  slielf  is  too  high  for  me  to  reacli  ; "  aiul,  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  kitchen  stair,  she  bade  Gideon  follow 
her.  They  found  both  the  hammer  and  a  chisel ;  but 
Gideon  was  surprised  to  see  no  sign  of  a  servant.  He  also 
discovered  that  Miss  Hazeltine  had  a  very  pretty  little 
foot  and  ankle  ;  and  the  discovery  embarrassed  him  so 
much  that  he  was  glad  to  fall  at  once  lapon  the  packing- 
case. 

He  worked  hard  and  earnestly,  and  dealt  his  blows  with 
the  precision  of  a  blacksmith  ;  Julia  the  while  standing 
silently  by  his  side  and  regarding  rather  the  workman 
than  the  work.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  she  told 
herself  ;  she  had  never  seen  such  beautiful  arms.  And 
suddenly,  as  though  he  had  overheard  these  thoughts, 
Gideon  turned  and  smiled  to  her.  She,  too,  smiled  and 
colored  ;  and  the  double  change  became  her  so  prettily 
that  Gideon  forgot  to  turn  away  his  eyes,  and,  swinging 
the  hammer  with  a  will,  discharged  a  smashing  blow  on 
his  own  knuckles.  With  admirable  presence  of  mind  he 
crushed  down  an  oath  and  substituted  the  harmless  com- 
ment, "butter  fingers!"  But  the  pain  was  sharp,  his 
nerve  was  shaken,  and  after  an  abortive  trial  he  found  he 
must  desist  from  further  operations. 

In  a  moment  Julia  was  off  to  the  pantry,  in  a  moment 
she  was  back  again  with  a  basin  of  water  and  a  sponge, 
and  had  begun  to  bathe  his  wounded  hand. 

"I  am  dreadfully  sorry,"  said  Gideon,  apologetically. 
"  If  I  had  had  any  manners  I  should  have  opened  the  box 


Go  TlIK    AVliO.XG    I'AiX. 

first,  and  smaslied  my  hand  afterward.     It  feels  much  bet- 
ter," he  added.     "  I  assure  you  it  does." 

"And  now  I  think  you  are  well  enough  to  direct  opera- 
tions," said  she.  "Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I'll  be  your 
workman." 

"  A  very  pretty  workman,"  said  Gideon,  rather  forget- 
ting himself.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  a  sus- 
picion of  a  frown  ;  and  the  indiscreet  young  man  was 
glad  to  direct  her  attention  to  the  packing-case.  The 
bulk  of  the  work  had  been  accompjished  ;  and  presently 
Julia  had  burst  through  the  last  barrier  and  disclosed  a 
zone  of  straw.  In  a  moment  they  Avere  kneeling  side  by 
side,  engaged  like  haymakers  ;  the  next  they  were  re- 
warded with  a  glimpse  of  something  white  and  iDolished  ; 
and  the  next  again,  laid  bare  an  unmistakable  marble  leg. 

"  He  is  surely  a  very  athletic  person,"  said  Julia. 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  responded  Gideon. 
"  His  muscles  stand  out  like  penny  rolls." 

Another  leg  was  soon  disclosed,  and  then  what  seemed 
to  be  a  third.  This  resolved  itself,  however,  into  a  knotted 
club  resting  upon  a  pedestal. 

"It  is  a  Hercules,"  cried  Gideon;  "I  might  have 
guessed  that  from  his  calf.  I'm  supposed  to  be  rather 
partial  to  statuary,  but  when  it  comes  to  Hercules,  the 
police  should  interfere.  I  should  say,"  he  added,  glanc- 
ing with  disaffection  at  the  swollen  leg,  "that  this  was 
about  the  biggest  and  the  worst  in  Europe.  "What  in 
heaven's  name  can  have  induced  him  to  come  here?" 


MR.    GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    GIGANTIO    BOX.       67 

"I  suppose  nobody  else  would  have  a  gift  of  Lim,"  said 
Julia.  "And  for  that  matter,  I  think  we  could  have  done 
without  the  monster  very  well." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  returned  Gideon.  "  This  has 
been  one  of  the  most  amusing  exj^eriences  of  my  life." 

"I  don't  think  you'll  forget  it  very  soon,"  said  Julia. 
"  Your  hand  wiU  remind  you." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going,"  said  Gideon, 
reluctantly. 

"No,"  pleaded  Julia.  "Why  should  3'ou?  Stay  and 
have  tea  with  me." 

"If  I  thought  you  really  wished  me  to  stay,"  said 
Gideon,  looking  at  his  hat,  "  of  course  I  should  only  be 
too  delighted." 

"  What  a  silly  person  you  must  take  me  for  !  "  returned 
the  girl.  "  Why,  of  course  I  do ;  and  besides  I  want 
some  cakes  for  tea,  and  I've  nobody  to  send.  Here  is  the 
latch-key." 

Gideon  put  on  his  hat  with  alacrity,  and  casting  one 
look  at  Miss  Hazeltine  and  another  at  the  legs  of  Her- 
cules, threw  open  the  door  and  departed  on  his  errand. 

He  returned  with  a  large  bag  of  the  choicest  and  most 
tempting  of  cakes  and  tartlets,  and  found  Julia  in  the  act 
of  spreading  a  small  tea-table  in  the  lobby. 

"  The  rooms  are  all  in  such  a  state,"  she  cried,  "that  I 
thought  we  should  be  more  cosy  and  comfortable  in  our 
own  lobby,  and  under  our  own  vine  and  statuary." 

"  Ever  so  much  better,"  cried  Gideon,  delightedly. 


68  TUK    WKONG    BOX. 

« 

"  Ob,  what  adorable  cream  tarts  !  "  said  Julia,  opening 
the  bag,  "  and  the  deai'est  little  cherry  tartlets,  with  all 
the  cherries  spilled  out  into  the  cream  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gideon,  concealing  his  dismay,  "  I  knew 
they  would  mix  beautifully  ;  the  woman  behind  the 
counter  told  me  so." 

"Now,"  said  Julia,  as  they  began  their  little  festival,  "I 
am  going  to  show  you  Morris's  letter  ;  read  it  aloud, 
please  ;  perhaps  there's  something  I  have  missed." 

Gideon  took  the  letter,  and  spreading  it  out  on  his  knee, 
read  as  follows : 

"  Dear  Julia  :  I  write  you  from  Browndean,  where  we 
are  stopping  over  for  a  few  days.  Uncle  was  much  shaken 
in  that  dreadful  accident,  of  which,  I  dare  say,  you  have 
seen  the  account.  To-morrow  I  leave  him  here  with 
John,  and  come  up  alone  ;  but  before  that  jou  will  have 
received  a  barrel  containing  specimens  for  a  friend.  Do 
not  open  it  on  any  account,  but  leave  it  in  the  lobby  till  I 
come.  "  Yours  in  haste, 

"M.   FiNSBURY. 

"  p.  S. — Be  sure  and  leave  the  barrel  in  the  lobby." 

"No,"  said  Gideon,  "there  seems  to  be  nothing  about 
the  monument,"  and  he  nodded  as  he  spoke  at  the  mar- 
ble legs.  "  Miss  Hazel  tine,"  he  continued,  "  would  you 
mind  me  asking  a  few  questions  ?  " 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Julia  ;  "and  if  you  can  make 
me  understand  why  Morris  Las  sent  a  statue  of  Hercules 


MR.    GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    GIGANTIC    BOX.       69 

instead  of  a  barrel  containing  specimens  for  a  friend,  I 
shall  be  grateful  till  my  dying  day.  And  what  are  speci- 
mens for  a  friend  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  a  guess,"  said  Gideon.  "  Specimens  are  usu- 
ally bits  of  stone,  but  rather  smaller  than  our  friend  the 
monument.  Still,  that  is  not  the  point.  Are  you  quite 
alone  in  this  big  house?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  at  present,"  returned  Julia.  "  I  came  up  be- 
fore them  to  prepare  the  house,  and  get  another  servant. 
But  I  couldn't  get  one  I  liked." 

"  Then  you  are  utterly  alone,"  said  Gideon  in  amaze- 
ment.    "  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  " 

"No,"  responded  Julia,  stoutly.  "I  don't  see  why  I 
should  be  more  afraid  than  you  would  be  ;  I  am  weaker, 
of  course,  but  when  I  found  I  must  sleep  alone  in  the 
house,  I  bought  a  revolver  wonderfully  cheap,  and  made 
the  man  show  me  how  to  use  it." 

"  And  how  do  you  use  it  ? "  demanded  Gideon,  much 
amused  at  her  courage. 

"Why,"  said  she,  with  a  smile,  "you  pull  the  little 
trigger  thing  on  top,  and  then  pointing  it  very  low,  for  it 
springs  up  as  you  fire,  you  pull  the  underneath  little  trig- 
ger thing,  and  it  goes  off  as  well  as  if  a  man  had  done  it." 

"  And  how  often  have  3'ou  used  it  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

"  Oh,  I  have  not  used  it  yet,"  said  the  determined  young 
lady  ;  "  but  I  know  how,  and  that  makes  me  wonderfully 
courageous,  especially  when  I  barricade  my  door  with  a 
chest  of  drawers." 


70  THK    WKONG    UOX. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  they  are  coming  back  soon,"  said 
Gideon.  "  Tliis  business  strikes  me  as  excessively  un- 
safe ;  if  it  goes  on  much  longer,  I  could  provide  you  with 
a  maiden  aunt  of  mine,  or  my  landlady,  if  you  pre- 
ferred." 

"  Lend  me  an  aunt !  "  cried  Julia,  "  Oh,  what  generos- 
ity !  I  begin  to  think  it  must  have  been  you  that  sent  the 
Hercules." 

"Believe  me,"  cried  the  young  man,  "I  admire  you  too 
much  to  send  you  such  an  infamous  work  of  ai't." 

Julia  was  beginning  to  reply,  when  they  were  both 
startled  by  a  knocking  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth!" 

"Don't  be  afraid,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Gideon,  laying  his 
hand  tenderly  on  her  arm. 

"I  know  it's  the  police,"  she  whispered.  "  They  are 
coming  to  complain  about  the  statue." 

The  knock  was  repeated.  It  was  louder  than  before, 
and  more  impatient. 

"  It's  Morris,"  cried  Julia,  in  a  startled  voice,  and  she 
ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

It  was  indeed  Morris  that  stood  before  them  ;  not  the 
Morris  of  ordinary  days,  but  a  wild-looking  fellow,  pale 
and  haggard,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  a  two  days'  beard 
upon  his  chin. 

"The  barrel!"  he  cried.  "Where's  the  barrel  that 
came  this  morning  ?  "  and  he  stared  about  the  lobby,  his 
eyes,  as  they  fell  upon  the  legs  of  Hercules,  literally  gog- 


MR.    GIDEOJSr    FORSTTir    A>'D    Tlli:    GIGANTIC    BOX.       71 

gl'iDg  in  Lis  head.  "What  is  that?"  he  screamed. 
"What  is  that  wax--^orli?  Speak,  you  fool!  "\Miat  is 
that  ?  and  where's  the  barrel — the  water-butt  ?  " 

"No  baiTel  came,  Morris,"  responded  Julia,  coldly. 
"  This  is  the  only  thing  that  has  arrived." 

"  This  !  "  shrieked  the  miserable  man.  "I  never  heard 
of  it !  " 

"  It  came  addressed  in  your  hand,"  replied  Julia  ;  "  we 
had  nearly  to  pull  the  house  down  to  get  it  in,  and  that  is 
all  that  I  can  tell  you." 

Morris  gazed  at  her  in  utter  bewilderment.  He  passed 
his  hand  over  his  forehead,  he  leaned  against  the  wall  like 
a  man  about  to  faint.  Then  his  tongue  was  loosed,  and 
he  overwhelmed  the  girl  with  torrents  of  abuse.  Such 
fire,  such  directness,  such  a  choice  of  ungentlemanly  lan- 
guage, none  had  ever  before  suspected  Morris  to  possess ; 
and  the  girl  trembled  and  shrank  before  his  fury. 

"  You  shall  not  speak  to  Miss  Hazeltine  in  that  way," 
said  Gideon,  sternly.     "It  is  what  I  will  not  suffer." 

"I  shall  speak  to  the  girl  as  I  like,"  returned  Morris, 
with  a  fresh  outburst  of  anger.  "I'll  speak  to  the  hussy 
as  she  deserves." 

"  Not  a  word  more,  sir,  not  one  word,"  cried  Gideon. 
"Miss  Hazeltine,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  young 
girl,  "  you  cannot  stay  a  moment  longer  in  the  same  house 
with  this  unmanly  fellow.  Here  is  my  arm,  let  me  take 
you  where  you  will  be  secure  from  insult." 

"!Mi'.  Forsyth,"  returned  Juha,  "you  are  right,  I  cannot 


72  Tire    AVKONG    BOX. 

stay  here  longer,  and  I  am  sure  I  trust  myself  to  an  hon- 
orable gentleman." 

Pale  and  resolute,  Gideon  offered  her  his  arm,  and  the 
pair  descended  the  steps,  followed  by  Morris  clamoring 
for  the  latch-hey. 

Julia  had  scarcel}-  handed  the  key  to  Morris  before  an 
empty  hansom  drove  smartly  into  John  Street.  It  was 
hailed  by  both  men,  and  as  the  cabman  drew  up  his  res- 
tive horse,  Morris  made  a  dash  into  the  vehicle. 

"Sixpence  above  fare,"  he  cried,  recklessly.  ""Waterloo 
station  for  your  Hfe.     Sixpence  for  yourself !  " 

"Make  it  a  shilling,  Guv'ner,"  said  the  man,  with  a  grin, 
**  the  other  parties  were  first." 

"  A  shilling  then,"  cried  Morris,  with  the  inward  reflec- 
tion that  he  would  reconsider  it  at  Waterloo.  The  man 
whipped  up  his  horse,  and  the  hansom  vanished  from 
John  Street. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS  :     PART    THE    FIRST. 

As  tlie  hansom  span  through  the  streets  of  Loudon, 
Morris  sought  to  rally  the  forces  of  his  mind.  The  water- 
butt  with  the  dead  body  had  miscarried,  and  it  was 
essential  to  recover  it.  So  much  was  clear;  and  if,  by 
some  blest  good-fortune,  it  was  still  at  the  station,  all 
might  be  well.  If  it  had  been  sent  out,  however,  if  it 
were  already  in  the  hands  of  some  wrong  person,  matters 
looked  more  ominous.  People  who  receive  unexplained 
packages  are  usually  keen  to  have  them  open  ;  the  ex- 
ample of  Miss  Hazeltine  (whom  he  cursed  again)  was  there 
to  remind  him  of  the  circumstance  ;  and  if  anyone  had 
opened  the  water-butt — "  Oh,  Lord,"  cried  Morris  at  the 
thought,  and  carried  his  hand  to  his  damp  forehead.  The 
private  conception  of  any  breach  of  law  is  apt  to  be  in- 
spiriting, for  the  scheme  (while  yet  inchoate)  wears  dash- 
ing and  attractive  colors.  Not  so  in  the  least,  that  part 
of  the  criminal's  later  reflections  which  deal  with  the 
police.  That  useful  corps  (as  Morris  now  began  to  think) 
had  scarce  been  kept  sufficiently  in  view  when  he  em- 
barked upon  his  entei-prise.     "  I  must  play  de%'ilish  close," 


74  thl:  -wrono  box. 

he  reflected,  and  Le  was  aware  of  an  exquisite  thrill  of 
fear  in  the  region  of  the  spine.  , 

"Main  line,  or  loop?"  inquired  the  cabman,  through 
the  scuttle. 

"Main  line,"  replied  Morris,  and  mentally  decided  thjit 
the  man  should  have  his  shilling  after  all.  "  It  would  be 
madness  to  attract  attention,"  thought  he.  "Bat  what 
this  thing  will  cost  me,  fii*st  and  last,  begins  to  be  a  night- 
mare !  " 

He  passed  thi'ough  the  booking  office  and  wandered 
disconsolately  on  the  platform.  It  was  a  breathing  space 
in  the  day's  traffic  ;  there  were  few  people  there,  and  these 
for  the  most  part  quiescent  on  the  benches.  Morris 
seemed  to  attract  no  remark,  which  was  a  good  thing  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  making  no  progress  in 
his  quest.  Something  must  be  done,  something  must 
be  risked ;  every  passing  instant  only  added  to  his 
dangers.  Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  stopped  a 
porter,  and  asked  him  if  he  remembered '  receiving  a 
barrel  by  the  morning  train  ;  he  was  anxious  to  get  infor- 
mation, for  the  bai-rel  belonged  to  a  friend.  "  It  is  a 
matter  of  some  moment,"  he  added,  "for  it  contains 
specimens." 

"I  was  not  here  this  morning,  sii*,"  responded  the 
porter,  somewhat  reluctantly,  "but  I'll  ask  Bill.  Do  you 
recollect.  Bill,  to  have  got  a  baiTcl  from  Bournemouth  this 
morning  containing  specimens?" 

"  I  don't   know  about  specimens,"  replied  Bill;  "but 


THK   TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS!    PART    TllK    FIRST.       (O 

the  party  as  received  the  barrel  I  mean,  raised  a  sight  of 
trouble." 

"What's  that?"  cried  Morris,  in  the  agitation  of  the 
moment,  pressing  a  penny  into  the  man's  hand. 

"  You  see,  sir,  the  barrel  arrived  at  one  thirty ;  no  one 
claimed  it  till  about  three,  when  a  small,  sickly-looking 
gentleman  (probably  a  curate)  came  up,  and  sez  he, 
'Have  you  got  anything  for  Pitman,' or  '  Will'm  Bent 
Pitman,'  if  I  recollect  right.  '  I  don't  exactly  know,'  sez 
I,  'but  I  rather  fancy  that  there  barrel  bears  that  name.' 
The  little  man  went  up  to  the  barrel,  and  seemed  regu- 
larly all  took  aback  when  he  saw  the  address,  and  then  he 
pitched  into  us  for  not  having  brought  what  he  wanted. 
*I  dou't  care  a  damn  what  you  want,'  sez  I  to  him,  'but  if 
you  are  Will'm  Bent  Pitman,  there's  your  barrel.'  " 

"Well,  and  did  he  take  it?  "  cried  the  breathless  Morris. 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  Bill,  "it  appears  it  was  a  packing- 
case  be  was  after.  The  packing-case  came  ;  that's  sure 
enough,  because  it  was  about  the  biggest  packing-case 
ever  I  clapped  eyes  on.  And  this  Pitman  he  seemed  a 
good  deal  cut  up,  and  he  had  the  superintendent  out,  and 
they  got  hold  of  the  van  man — him  as  took  the  packing- 
case.  Well,  sir,"  continued  Bill,  with  a  smile,  "  I  never 
see  a  man  in  such  a  state  ;  everybody  about  that  van  was 
mortal,  bar  the  horses.  Some  gen'leman  (as  well  as  I 
could  make  out)  had  given  the  van  man  a  sov ;  and  so  that 
was  where  the  trouble  come  in,  you  see." 

"  But  what  did  he  say  ?  "  gasped  Morris. 


ro. 


G  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

"I  don't  know  as  be  said  much,  sir,"  said  Bill.  "But 
he  offered  to  fight  this  Pitman  for  a  pot  of  beer.  He  had 
lost  his  book,  too,  and  the  receipts  ;  and  his  men  were  all 
as  mortal  as  himself.  Oh,  they  were  all  like — "  and  Bill 
paused  for  a  simile — "  like  lords  !  the  superintendent 
sacked  them  on  the  spot." 

"  Ob,  come,  but  that's  not  so  bad,"  said  Morris,  with  a 
bursting  sigh.  "  He  couldn't  tell  where  he  took  the  Joack- 
ing-case,  then  ?  " 

"Not  be,"  said  Bill,  "nor  xet  nothink  else." 

"And  what — what  did  Pitman  do?"  asked  Morris. 

"  Oh,  be  went  off  with  the  barrel  in  a  four-wheeler,  very 
trembling  like,"  replied  Bill.  "  I  don't  believe  he's  a 
gentleman  as  has  good  health." 

"  Well,  so  the  barrel's  gone,"  said  Morris,  half  to  hirhself. 

"You  may  depend  on  that,  sir,"  returned  the  porter. 
"  But  you  bad  better  see  the  superintendent." 

"  Not  in  the  least,  it's  of  no  account,"  said  Morris.  "  It 
only  contained  specimens."     And  he  walked  hastily  away. 

Ensconced  once  more  in  a  hansom,  he  proceeded  to  re- 
consider bis  position.  Suppose  (he  thought),  suppose  he 
should  accept  defeat  and  declare  bis  uncle's  death  at  once  ? 
He  should  lose  the  tontine,  and  with  that  the  last  hope 
of  his  seven  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds.  But  on 
the  other  band,  since  the  shilling  to  the  hansom  cabman, 
be  bad  begun  to  see  that  crime  was  expensive  in  its  course, 
and  since  the  loss  of  the  water-butt,  that  it  was  uncertain 
in  its  consequences.     Quietly  at  first,  and  then  with  grow- 


THE    TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS:    PART    THE    FIRST.       n 

Lag  heat,  lie  reviewed  the  advantages  of  backing  out.  It 
involved  a  loss  ;  but  (come  to  think  of  it)  no  such  gi*eat  loss 
aftex*  all  ;  only  that  of  the  tontine,  -which  had  been  always 
a  toss  up,  which  at  bottom  he  had  never  really  expected. 
He  reminded  himself  of  that  eagei-ly  ;  he  congratulated 
himself  upon  his  constant  moderation.  He  had  never 
really  expected  the  tontine  ;  he  had  never  even  very  defin- 
itely hoped  to  recover  his  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds  ;  he  had  been  hurried  into  the  whole  thing  by 
Michael's  obvious  dishonesty.  Yes,  it  would  probably  be 
better  to  draw  back  from  this  high-flying  venture,  settle 
back  on  the  leather  business — 

"  Great  God  !"  cried  Morris,  bounding  in  the  hansom 
like  a  Jack-in-a-box.  "  I  have  not  only  not  gained  the 
tontine — I  have  lost  the  leather  business !  " 

Such  was  the  monstrous  fact.  He  had  no  power  to 
sign  ;  he  could  not  draw  a  check  for  thirty  shilHngs  ;  until 
he  covdd  j^roduce  legal  evidence  of  his  uncle's  death,  he 
was  a  penniless  outcast — and  as  soon  as  he  produced  it  he 
had  lost  the  tontine  !  There  was  no  hesitation  on  the  part 
of  Morris  ;  to  drop  the  tontine  like  a  hot  chestnut,  to  con- 
centrate all  his  forces  on  the  leather  business  and  the  rest 
of  his  small  but  legitimate  inheritance,  was  the  decision  of 
a  single  instant.  And  the  next,  the  full  extent  of  his 
calamity  was  suddenly  disclosed  to  him.  Declare  his 
uncle's  death  ?  He  couldn't  !  Since  the  body  was  lost, 
Joseph  had  (in  a  legal  sense)  become  immortal. 

There  was  no  created  vehicle  big  enough  to   contain 


78  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

MoiTis  and  his  woes.  He  paid  the  hansom  off  and  walked 
on  he  knew  not  whither. 

"  I  seem  to  have  gone  into  this  business  with  too  much 
precipitation,"  he  reflected,  with  a  deadly  sigh.  "I  fear 
it  seems  too  ramified  for  a  person  of  my  powers  of  mind." 

And  then  a  remark  of  his  uncle's  flashed  into  his  mem- 
ory :  If  you  want  to  think  clearly,  put  it  all  down  on 
paper.  "  Well,  the  old  boy  knew  a  thing  or  two,"  said 
Morris.  "  I  will  try  ;  but  I  don't  beHeve  the  paper  was 
ever  made  that  will  clear  my  mind." 

He  entered  a  place  of  public  entertainment,  ordered 
bread  and  cheese,  and  writing  materials,  and  sat  down  be- 
fore them  heavily.  He  tried  the  pen  ;  it  was  an  excellent 
pen,  but  what  was  he  to  write?  "  I  have  it,"  cried  Mor- 
ris. "  Robinson  Crusoe  and  the  double  columns  !  "  He 
prepared  his  paper  after  that  classic  model  and  began  as 

follows : 

Bad.  Good. 

1.   I  have  lost  my  uncle's  body.       1.   But  then  Pitman  has  found  it. 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  Morris,  "lam  letting  the  spirit  of 
antithesis  run  away  with  me.     Let's  start  again." 

Bad.  Good. 

1.  I  have  lost  my  uncle's  "body.        1.  But  then  I  no  longer  require 

to  bury  it. 

2.  I  have  lost  the  tontine.  2.  But  I  may  still  save  that  if 

Pitman  disposes  of  the  body, 
and  if  I  can  find  a  physician 
who  will  stick  at  nothing. 


THE    TRIBULATIONS   OF    MORRIS!    PART    THE    FIRST.      79 

3.  I  have  lost  the  leather  busi-     3.   But  not  if  Pitman  gives  the 
ness  and  the  rest  of  my  un-  body  up  to  the  police. 

cle's  succession. 


"  Ob,  but  in  that  case  I  go  to  jail  ;  I  had  forgot  that," 
thought  Morris.  "  Indeed,  I  don't  know  that  I  had  better 
dwell  on  that  hypothesis  at  all ;  it's  all  very  well  to  talk 
of  facing  the  worst ;  but  iu  a  case  of  this  kind,  a  man's 
first  duty  is  to  his  own  nerve.  Is  there  any  answer  to 
No.  3  ?  Is  thei-e  any  possible  good  side  to  such  a  beastly 
bungle  ?  There  must  be,  of  course,  or  where  would  be 
the  use  of  this  double-entry  business  ?  And — by  George, 
I  have  it !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  it's  exactly  the  same  as  the 
last ! "     And  he  hastily  rewrote  the  passage. 

Bad.  Good. 

3.  I  have  lost  the  leather  busi-  3.  But  not  if  I  can  find  a  physi- 

ness  and  the   rest  of  my  un-  cian  who  will  stick  at  noth- 

cle's  succession.  ing. 

"This  venal  doctor  seems  quite  a  desideratum,"  he  re- 
flected. "  I  want  him  first  to  give  me  a  certificate  that 
my  uncle  is  dead,  so  that  I  may  get  the  leather  business  ; 
and  then  that  he's  alive — but  here  we  are  again  at  the  in- 
compatible interests  ! "  And  he  retui-ned  to  his  tabu- 
lation. 

Bad.  Good. 

4.  I  have  almost  no  money.  4.  But  there  is  plenty  in   the 

bank. 


so 


TIIK    WRONG    BOX. 


5.  Yes,  but  I  can't  get  the  money 
in  the  bank. 

6.  I  have  left  tlie  bill  for  eight 
hundred  pounds  iu  Uncle 
Joseph's  pocket. 


7.  Yes,  but  if  Pitman  is  dishon- 
est and  finds  the  bill,  he 
will  know  who  Joseph  is, 
and  lie  may  blackmail  me. 

8.  But  I  can't  blackmail  Michael 
(which  is,  besides,  a  very 
dangerous  thing  to  do)  un- 
til I  find  out. 

9.  The  leather  business  will  soon 
want  money  for  current  ex- 
penses, and  I  have  none  to 
give. 

10.  Yes,  but  it's  all  the  ship  I 
have. 

11.  John  will  soon  want  money, 
and  I  have  none  to  give. 

12.  And  the  venal  doctor  will 
want  money  down. 

13.  And  if  Pitman  is  dishonest 
and  don  t  send  me  to  jail, 
he  will  want  a  fortune. 


5.  But — well,  that  .seems  un- 
happily to  be  the  case. 

6.  But  ii  Pitman  is  only  a  dis- 
honest man,  the  presence 
of  this  bill  may  lead  liiia 
to  keep  the  whole  thing 
dark  and  throw  the  body 
into  the  New  Cut. 

7.  Yes,  but  if  I  am  right  about 
Uncle  Masterman,  I  can 
blackmail  Michael. 

8.  Worse  luck! 


9.  But  the  leather  business  is  a 
sinking  ship. 


10.  A  fact. 

11. 

12. 

13. 


"  Oh,  this  seems  to  be  a  very  one-sided  business,"  ex- 
claimed Morris.      "There's  not  so  much  in  this  method  as 


THE    TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS!    PART    THE    FIRST,       SI 

I  was  led  to  think."  He  crumpled  the  j)aper  up  and 
threw  it  down  ;  and  then,  the  next  moment,  picked  it  up 
again  and  ran  it  over.  "It  seems  it's  on  the  financial 
point  that  my  position  is  weakest,"  he  reflected.  "  Is 
there  positively  no  way  of  raising  the  wind  ?  In  a  vast 
city  like  this,  and  surrounded  by  all  the  resources  of  civ- 
ihzation,  it  seems  not  to  be  conceived !  Let  us  have  no 
more  precipitation.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  sell  ?  M}'  col- 
lection of  sic-net — ."  But  at  the  thou^-ht  of  scattering- 
these  beloved  treasures,  the  blood  leaped  into  Morris's 
cheek.  "  I  would  rather  die  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  cram- 
ming his  hat  upon  his  head,  strode  forth  into  the  streets. 

"  I  must  raise  funds,"  he  thought.  "  My  uncle  being 
dead,  the  money  in  the  bank  is  mine  ;  or  would  be  mine, 
but  for  the  cursed  injustice  that  has  pursued  me  ever 
since  I  was  an  orphan  in  a  Commercial  Academy.  I  know 
•what  any  other  man  would  do  ;  any  other  man  in  Chris- 
tendom would  forge  ;  although  I  don't  know  why  I  call  it 
forging,  either,  when  Joseph's  dead,  and  the  funds  are  my 
own.  When  I  think  of  that,  when  I  think  that  my  uncle 
is  really  as  dead  as  mutton,  and  that  I  can't  prove  it,  my 
goi'ge  rises  at  the  injustice  of  the  whole  affair.  I  used  to 
feel  bitterly  about  that  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds  ;  it  seems  a  trifle  now !  Dear  me,  why,  the  day 
before  yesterday  I  was  comparatively  happy." 

And  IMorris  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  heaved  another 
sobbing  sigh. 

"Then   there's  another  thing,"  he  resumed;  "can  I? 


82 


THE    ^VKOXG    BOX. 


Am  I  able  ?  "Why  didu't  I  practise  different  handwritings 
while  I  was  young  ?  How  a  fellow  regrets  those  lost  op- 
jwrtunities  when  he  grows  up  !  But  there's  one  comfort : 
it's  not  morally  wrong  ;  I  can  try  it  on  with  a  clear  con- 
science, and  even  if  I  was  found  out,  I  wouldn't  greatly  care 
— morally,  I  mean.  And  then,  if  I  succeed,  and  if  Pit- 
man is  staunch — there's  nothing  to  do  but  find  a  venal 
doctor  ;  and  that  ought  to  be  simple  enough  in  a  j^laco 
like  London.  By  all  accounts  the  town's  alive  with  them. 
It  wouldn't  do,  of  course,  to  advertise  for  a  coiTupt  physi- 
cian ;  that  would  be  impolitic.  No,  I  suppose  a  fellow  has 
simply  to  spot  Along  the  streets  for  a  red  lamp  and  herbs 
in  the  window,  and  then  you  go  in  and — and — and  put  it 
to  him  plainly ;  though  it  seems  a  delicate  step." 

He  was  near  home  now,  after  many  devious  wanderings, 
and  turned  up  John  Street.  As  he  thrust  his  latch-key  in 
the  lock,  another  mortifying  reflection  struck  him  to  the 
heart. 

"Not  even  this  house  is  mine  till  I  can  prove  him 
dead,"  he  snarled,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him  so 
that  the  windows  in  the  attic  rattled. 

Night  had  long  fallen  ;  long  ago  the  lamps  and  the  shop- 
fronts  had  begun  to  glitter  down  the  endless  streets  ;  the 
lobby  was  pitch-dark  ;  and,  as  the  devil  would  have  it, 
Morris  barked  his  shins  and  sprawled  all  his  length  over 
the  pedestal  of  Hercules.  The  pain  was  sharp  ;  his  temper 
was  already  thoroughly  undermined  ;  by  a  last  misfortune 
his  hand  closed  on  the  hammer  as  he  fell ;  and,  in  a  spasm 


THE    TRIBULATIOXS    OI^    MOKRIS  :    PART    THE    ITRST.      83 

of  chilJisli  irritation,  lie  turned  and  struck  at  the  offending 
statue.     There  was  a  splintei-ing  crash. 

"  O  Lord,  what  have  I  done  next  ?  "  wailed  Morris  ;  and 
he  groped  his  way  to  find  a  candle.  "  Yes,"  he  reflected, 
as  he  stood  with  the  light  in  his  hand  and  looked  upon  the 
mutilated  leg,  from  which  about  a  pound  of  muscle  was 
detached.  "Yes,  I  have  destroyed  a  genuine  antique  ;  I 
may  be  in  for  thousands  ! "  And  then  there  s^Drung  up 
in  his  bosom  a  sort  of  angry  hope.  "  Let  me  see,"  he 
thought.  "Julia's  got  rid  of ;  there's  nothing  to  connect 
me  with  that  beast,  Forsyth  ;  the  men  wei-e  all  drunk,  and 
(what's  better)  they've  been  all  discharged.  Oh,  come,  I 
think  this  is  another  case  for  moral  courage  !  I'll  deny  all 
knowledge  of  the  thing."  '■ 

A  moment  more,  and  he  stood  again  before  the  Her- 
cules, his  lips  sternly  compressed,  the  coal-axe  and  the 
meat-cleaver  under  his  arm.  The  next,  he  had  fallen  up- 
on the  packing-case.  This  had  been  already  seriously 
undermined  by  the  operations  of  Gideon  ;  a  few  Avell- 
directed  blows,  audit  akeady  quaked  and  gaped  ;  yet  a  few 
more,  and  it  feU  about  Morris  in  a  shower  of  boards  fol- 
lowed by  an  avalanche  of  straw. 

And  now  the  leather  merchant  could  behold  the  nature 
of  his  task  ;  and  at  the  first  sight  his  spirit  quailed.  It 
was  indeed,  no  more  ambitious  a  task  for  De  Lesseps,  with 
all  his  men  and  horses,  to  attack  the  hills  of  Panama,  than 
for  a  single,  slim  young  gentleman,  with  no  previous  ex- 
perience of  labor  in  a  quarry,  to  measiu-e  himself  against 


St  Tin;    WKONG    BOX. 

that  bloated  mouster  on  his  pedestal.  And  yet  the  pair 
were  well  encountered  :  on  the  one  side,  bulk — on  tlie 
other,  genuine  heroic  fire. 

"  Down  you  shall  come,  you  great  big  ugly  brute  ! 
cried  Morris  aloud,  with  something  of  that  passion  which 
swept  the  Parisian  mob  against  the  walls  of  the  Bastille. 
"  Down  you  shall  conic,  this  night.     I'll  have  none  of  you 
in  my  lobby.  " 

The  face,  from  its  indecent  expression,  had  particularly 
animated  the  zeal  of  our  iconoclast ;  and  it  was  against  the 
face  that  he  began  his  operations.  The  great  height  of 
the  demigod— for  he  stood  a  fathom  and  half  in  his  stocking 
feet — offered  a  preliminary  obstacle  to  this  attack.  But 
here,  in  the  first  skirmish  of  the  battle,  intellect  already 
began  to  triumph  over  matter.  By  means  of  a  pair  of 
library  steps,  the  injured  householder  gained  a  posture  of 
advantage  ;  and  with  great  swipes  of  the  coal-axe,  jiro- 
ceeded  to  decapitate  the  brute. 

Two  hours  later,  what  had  been  the  erect  image  of 
a  gigantic  coal-porter  turned  miraculously  white,  was 
now  no  more  than  a  medley  of  disjected  members  :  the 
quadragenarian  torso  prone  against  the  pedestal  ;  the  la- 
scivious countenance  leering  down  the  kitchen  stair  ;  the 
logs,  the  arms,  the  hands,  and  even  the  fingers,  scattered 
broadcast  on  the  lobby  floor.  Half  an  hour  more,  and  all 
the  debris  had  been  laboriously  carted  to  the  kitchen  ; 
and  Mon'is,  with  a  gentle  sentiment  of  triumph,  looked 
round  upon  the  scene  of  his  achievements.     Yes,  he  could 


THE    TKIBULAXrONS    OF    MORRIS  :    PART    THE    FIRST.      85 

deny  all  knowledge  of  it  now  :  the  lobby,  beyond  the  fact 
that  it  was  partly  ruinous,  betrayed  no  trace  of  the  passage 
of  Hercules.  But  it  was  a  weary  Morris  that  crept  up  to 
bed ;  his  arms  and  shoulders  ached,  the  palms  of  his 
hands  burned  from  the  rough  kisses  of  the  coal-axe,  and 
there  was  one  smarting  finger  that  stole  continually  to 
his  mouth.  Sleep  long  delayed  to  visit  the  dilapidated 
hero,  and  with  the  first  peep  of  day  it  had  again  desert- 
ed him. 

The  mornine:,  as  thoucrh  to  accord  with  his  disastrous 
fortunes,  dawned  inclementlv.  An  easterly  gale  was 
shouting  in  the  streets  ;  flaws  of  rain  angrily  assailed  the 
windows ;  and  as  Morris  dressed,  the  draught  from  the 
fireplace  vividly  played  about  his  legs. 

"  I  think,"  he  could  not  help  observing,  bitterly,  "  that 
with  all  I  have  to  bear,  they  might  have  given  me  decent 
weather." 

There  was  no  bread  in  the  house,  for  Miss  Hazeltine 
(like  all  women  left  to  themselves)  had  subsisted  entirely 
upon  cake.  But  some  of  this  was  found,  and  (along  with 
what  the  poets  call  a  glass  of  fail*,  cold  water)  made  up  a 
semblance  of  a  morning  meal.  And  then  down  he  sat 
undauntedly  to  his  delicate  task. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  study  of 
signatures,  written  (as  they  are)  before  meals  and  after, 
during  indigestion  and  intoxication  ;  written  when  the 
signer  is  trembling  for  the  life  of  his  child,  or  has  come 
from  winning  the  Derby,  in  his  lawyer's  ofiice,  or  under 


86  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

the  bright  eyes  of  his  sweetheart.  To  the  vulgar,  these 
seem  never  the  same  ;  but  to  the  expert,  the  bank  clerk, 
or  the  lithographer,  they  are  constant  quantities  and 
as  recognizable  as  the  North  Star  to  the  night-watch  on 
deck. 

To  all  this  Morris  was  alive.  In  the  theory  of  that 
graceful  art  in  which  he  was  now  embarking,  our  spirited 
leather  merchant  was  beyond  all  reproach.  But  happily 
for  the  investor,  forgery  is  an  affair  of  practice.  And  as 
Morris  sat  surrounded  by  examples  of  his  uncle's  sig- 
nature, and  his  own  incompetence,  insidious  depression 
stole  upon  his  spirits.  From  time  to  time  the  wind 
wuthered  in  the  chimney  at  his  back  ;  fi'om  time  to  time 
there  swept  over  Bloomsbury  a  squall  so  dark  that  he 
must  rise  and  light  the  gas  ;  about  him  was  the  chill  and 
the  mean  disorder  of  a  house  out  of  commission — the 
floor  bare,  the  sofa  heaped  with  books  and  accounts  en- 
veloped in  a  dirty  table-cloth,  the  pens  rusted,  the  paj^er 
glazed  with  a  thick  film  of  dust  ;  and  yet  these  were  but 
adminicles  of  misery,  and  the  true  root  of  his  depression 
lay  round  him  on  the  table  in  the  shape  of  misbegotten 
forgeries. 

"It's  one  of  the  strangest  things  I  ever  heard  of,"  he 
complained.  "It  almost  seems  as  if  it  was  a  talent  that 
I  didn't  jDOssess."  He  went  once  more  minutely  through 
his  proofs.  "  A  clerk  would  simply  gibe  at  them,"  said 
he.     "  Well,  there's  nothing  else  but  tracing  possible." 

He  waited  till  a  squall  had  passed  and  there  came  a 


THE    TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS  !    PART   THE    FIRST.      87 

blink  of  scowling  daylight.  Then  he  went  to  the  window, 
and  in  the  face  of  all  John  Street  traced  his  uncle's  signa- 
ture. It  was  a  poor  thing  at  the  best.  "  But  it  must 
do,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  gazing  wofully  on  his  handi- 
work. "  He's  dead  anyway."  And  he  filled  up  the  cheque 
for  a  couple  of  a  hundred  and  sallied  forth  for  the  Anglo- 
Patagonian  Bank. 

There,  at  the  desk  at  which  he  was  accustomed  to  trans- 
act business,  and  with  as  much  indifference  as  he  could 
assume,  Mon'is  presented  the  forged  cheque  to  the  big, 
red-bearded  Scots  teller.  The  teller  seemed  to  view  it 
with  surprise  ;  and  as  he  turned  it  this  way  and  that,  and 
even  scrutinized  the  signature  with  a  magnifying  glass, 
his  surprise  appeared  to  warm  into  disfavor.  Begging  to 
be  excused  for  a  moment,  he  passed  away  into  the  rear- 
most quarters  of  the  bank  ;  whence,  after  an  appreciable 
interval,  he  returned  again  in  earnest  talk  with  a  superi- 
or, an  oldish  and  a  baldish,  but  a  very  gentlemanly  man. 

"Mr.  Morris  Finsbury,  I  believe,"  said  the  gentlemanly 
man,  fixing  Morris  with  a  pair  of  double  eyeglasses. 

"That  is  my  name,"  said  Morris,  quavering.  "Is  there 
anything  wrong  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Finsbury,  you  see  we  are  rather 
surprised  at  receiving  this,"  said  the  other,  flicking  at  the 
cheque.     "There  are  no  effects." 

"No  effects?"  cried  Morris.  "^\liy,  I  know  myself 
there  must  be  eight  and  twenty  hundred  pounds,  if  there's 
a  penny. " 


88  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

"Two  seven  six  four,  I  think,"  replied  the  gentlemanly 
man  ;  "but  it  was  drawn  yesterday." 

"Di-awn!"  cried  Morris. 

"By  your  uncle  himself,  sir,"  continued  the  other. 
"  Not  only  that,  but  we  discounted  a  bill  for  him  for — let 
me  see — how  much  was  it  for,  "Mi:  Bell  ?  " 

"  Eight  hundred,  Mr.  Judkin,"  replied  the  teller. 

"  Dent  Pitman  !  "  cried  Morris,  staggering  back. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Judkin. 

"It's — it's  only  an  expletive,"  said  Morris. 

"I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong,  Mr.  Finsbur}-,"  said 
Mr.  BeU. 

"All  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Morris,  with  a  harsh  laugh, 
"  is  that  the  whole  thing's  impossible.  INIy  uncle  is  at 
Bournemouth,  unable  to  move." 

"Keally  !  "  cried  Mr.  Bell,  and  he  recovered  the  cheque 
from  Mr.  Judkin.  "  But  this  cheque  is  dated  in  London, 
and  to-day,"  he  observed.  "How  d'ye  account  for  that, 
sir?" 

"Oh,  that  was  a  mistake,"  said  Morris,  and  a  deep  tide 
of  color  dyed  his  face  and  neck. 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Judkin,  but  he  looked 
at  his  customer  inquiringly. 

"And — and — ,"  resumed  Morris,  "even  if  there  were 
BO  effects — this  is  a  very  trifling  sum  to  overdraw — our 
firm — the  name  of  Finsbury  is  surely  good  enough  for 
such  a  wretched  sum  as  this." 

"No  doubt,    ^li'.    Finsbury,"    retui*ned    Mr.   Judkin; 


THE   TRIBULATIONS    OF    MOKRIS  I    PART   THE    FIRST.      89 

"  and  if  you  insist  I  will  take  it  into  consideration  ;  but  I 
hardly  think — in  short,  Mr.  Finsbur}',  if  there  had  been 
nothing  else,  the  signature  seems  hardly  all  that  we  could 
wish." 

"  That's  of  no  consequence,"  replied  Morris,  nervously, 
"  I'll  get  my  uncle  to  sign  another.  The  fact  is,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  bold  stroke,  "  my  uncle  is  so  far  from  well  at 
present  that  he  was  unable  to  sign  this  cheque  without 
assistance,  and  I  fear  that  my  holding  the  pen  for  him 
may  have  made  the  difference  in  the  signature." 

Mr.  Judkin  shot  a  keen  glance  into  Morris's  face  ;  and 
then  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Bell. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  as  if  we  have  been  victimized 
by  a  swindler.  Pray  tell  Mr.  Finsbury  we  shall  put  detec- 
tives on  at  once.  As  for  this  cheque  of  yours,  I  regret 
that,  owing  to  the  way  it  was  signed,  the  bank  can  hardly 
consider  it — what  shall  I  say? — business-like,"  and  he  re- 
turned the  cheque  across  the  counter. 

Morris  took  it  up  mechanically,  he  was  thinking  of 
something  very  different. 

"  In  a  case  of  this  kind,"  he  began,  "  I  believe  the  loss 
falls  on  us  ;  I  mean  upon  my  uncle  and  myself." 

"It  does  not,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Bell,  "the  bank  is  re- 
sponsible, and  the  bank  will  either  recover  the  money  or 
refund  it,  you  may  depend  on  that." 

Morris's  face  fell  ;  then  it  was  visited  by  another  gleam 
of  hope. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "  you  leave  this  entirely  in 


90  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

my  hands.  I'll  sift  the  matter.  IVe  an  idea,  at  any  rate  ; 
and  detectives,"  he  added  appealingly,  "are  so  expen- 
sive." 

"The  bank  would  not  hear  of  it," returned  Mr.  Judkiu. 
"  The  bank  stands  to  lose  between  three  and  four  thou- 
sand pounds  ;  it  will  spend  as  much  more  if  necessaiy. 
An  undiscovered  forger  is  a  permanent  danger.  We 
shall  clear  it  up  to  the  bottom,  Mr.  Fiusbury,  set  your 
mind  at  rest  on  that." 

"Then  I'll  stand  the  loss,"  said  Morris,  boldly.  "I 
order  you  to  abandon  the  search."  He  was  determined 
that  no  inquiry  should  be  made. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  ]Mr.  Judkiu,  "but  we 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you  in  this  matter,  which  is  one 
between  your  uncle  and  ourselves.  If  he  should  take  this 
opinion,  and  will  either  come  here  himself  or  will  let  me 
Bee  him  in  his  sick-room " 

"Quite  impossible,"  cried  Morris. 

"  Well  then,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Judkiu,  "how  my  hands 
are  tied.  The  whole  affair  must  go  at  once  into  the  hands 
of  the  police." 

Morris  mechanically  folded  the  cheque  and  restored  it 
to  his  pocket-book. 

"Good-morning,"  said  he,  and  scrambled  somehow  out 
of  the  bank. 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  suspect,"  he  reflected,  "  I 
can't  make  them  out,  their  whole  behavior  is  thoroughly 
uubusiness-hke.     But   it   doesn't   matter :    all's  up  with 


THE    TRIBFLATIONS    OF    MORRIS  I    PART    THE    FIRST.      91 

everytliiug.  The  money  has  been  paid  ;  the  police  are  on 
the  scent ;  in  two  hours,  that  idiot  Pitman  will  be  nabbed 
— and  the  whole  story  of  the  dead  body  in  the  evening 
papers." 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  passed  in  the  bank  after 
his  departure,  he  would  have  been  less  alarmed,  perhaps 
more  mortified. 

"That  was  a  curious  affair,  Mr.  Bell,"  said  Mr.  Judkin. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  "  but  I  think  we  have  given 
him  a  fright." 

"Oh,  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  Mr.  Morris  Finsbury," 
returned  the  other;  "it  was  a  first  attempt,  and  the 
house  have  dealt  with  lis  so  long  that  I  was  anxious  to 
deal  gently.  But  I  suppose,  Mr.  Bell,  there  can  be  no 
mistake  about  yesterday  ?  It  was  old  Mr.  Finsbury  him- 
self ?  " 

"  There  could  be  no  possible  doubt  of  that,"  said  Mi\ 
BeU,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He  explained  to  me  the  principles 
of  banking." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Judkin.  "The  next  time  he 
calls,  ask  him  to  step  into  my  room.  It  is  only  proper  he 
should  be  warned." 


CHAPTEE  Vn. 

IN   WHICH    WILLIAM    DENT    PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE. 

Norfolk  Street,  King's  Eoad — jocularly  known  among 
Mr.  Pitman's  lodgers  as  "  Norfolk  Island,"  is  neither  a  long, 
a  handsome,  nor  a  pleasing  thoroughfare.  Dirty,  under- 
sized maids-of-all-work  issue  from  it  in  pursuit  of  beer, 
or  linger  on  its  sidewalk  listening  to  the  voice  of  love. 
The  cat's-meat  man  passes  twice  a  day.  Au  occasional  or- 
gan-grinder wanders  in  and  wanders  out  again,  disgusted. 
In  holiday  time  the  street  is  the  arena  of  the  young 
bloods  of  the  neighborhood,  and  the  householders  have 
an  opportunity  of  studying  the  manly  art  of  self-defence. 
And  yet  Norfolk  Street  has  one  claim  to  be  respectable, 
for  it  contains  not  a  single  shop — unless  you  count  the 
public  house  at  the  corner,  which  is  really  in  the  King's 
Eoad. 

The  door  of  No.  7  bore  a  brass  plate  inscribed  with 
the  legend  "  W.  D.  Pitman,  Artist."  It  was  not  a  particu- 
larly clean  brass  plate,  nor  was  No.  7  itself  a  particularly 
inviting -place  of  residence.  And  yet  it  had  a  character 
of  its  own,  such  as  may  well  quicken  the  pulse  of  the 
reader's  curiosity.  For  here  was  the  home  of  an  artist — 
and  a  distinguished  artist  too,  highly  distinguished  by  his 


WILLIAM    DENT    PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.         93 

ill-success — which  had  never  been  made  the  subject  of  an 
article  in  the  illustrated  magazines.  No  wood-engraver 
had  ever  reproduced  "  a  corner  in  the  back  di-awiug-room  " 
or  "  the  studio  mantelpiece  "  of  No.  7  ;  no  young  lady 
author  had  ever  commented  on  "  the  unaffected  simplicity  " 
with  which  Mr.  Pitman  received  her  in  the  midst  of  his 
"treasures."  It  is  an  omission  I  would  gladly  supply, 
but  our  business  is  only  with  the  backward  parts  and 
"abject  rear"  of  this  aesthetic  dwelling. 

Here  was  a  garden,  boasting  a  dwarf  fountain  (that 
never  played)  in  the  centre,  a  few  grimy-looking  flowers 
in  pots,  two  or  three  newly-planted  trees  which  the  spring 
of  Chelsea  visited  without  noticeable  consequence,  and 
two  or  three  statues  after  the  antique,  representing  satyrs 
and  nymphs  in  the  worst  possible  style  of  sculptured  art. 
On  one  side,  the  garden  was  over-shadowed  by  a  pair  of 
crazy  studios,  usually  hired  out  to  the  more  obscure  and 
youthful  practitioners  of  British  art.  Opposite  these  an- 
other lofty  out-building,  somewhat  more  carefully  finished, 
and  boasting  of  a  communication  with  the  house  and  a 
private  door  on  the  back  lane,  enshrined  the  multifarious 
industry  of  IVIr.  Pitman.  All  day,  it  is  true,  he  was  en- 
gaged in  the  work  of  education  at  a  seminary  for  young 
ladies ;  but  the  evenings  at  least  were  his  own,  and  these 
he  would  prolong  far  into  the  night,  now  dashing  off  A 
landscape  with  waterfall  in  oil,  now  a  volunteer  bust  ("in 
marble,"  as  he  would  gently  but  proudly  observe)  of  some 
public  chai-acter,  now  stooping  his  chisel  to  a  mere  nymph 


94  THE    WRONG   BOX. 

("for  a  gas-bracket  on  a  stair,  sir"),  or  a  life-size  Infant 
Samuel  for  a  religious  nursery.  Mr.  Pitman  bad  studied 
in  Paris,  and  be  bad  studied  in  Rome,  supplied  witb  funds 
by  a  fond  parent  wbo  Avent  subsequently  bankrupt,  in  con- 
sequence of  a  fall  in  corsets ;  and  tbougb  be  was  never 
tbougbt  to  bave  tbe  smallest  modicum  of  talent,  it  was 
at  one  time  supposed  tbat  be  bad  learned  bis  business. 
Eigbteen  years  of  wbat  is  called  "  tuition "  bad  relieved 
bim  of  tbe  dangerous  knowledge.  His  artist  lodgers  would 
sometimes  reason  witb  bim  ;  tbey  would  point  out  to  bim 
how  impossible  it  was  to  paint  by  gas-ligbt,  or  to  sculpture 
life-sized  nympbs  witbout  a  model. 

"I  know  tbat,"  be  would  reph%  "No  one  in  Norfolk 
Street  knows  it  better  ;  and  if  I  were  ricb  I  sbould  cer- 
tainly emplo}'  tbe  best  models  in  London  ;  but  being 
poor,  I  bave  taugbt  myself  to  do  witbout  tbem.  An  oc- 
casional model  would  only  disturb  my  ideal  conception 
of  tbe  figure,  and  be  a  positive  impediment  in  my  ca- 
reer. As  for  painting  by  an  artificial  li^bt,"  be  would 
continue,  "  tbat  is  simply  a  knack  I  bave  found  it  neces- 
sary to  acquire,  my  days  being  engrossed  in  tbe  work  of 
tuition." 

At  tbe  moment  wben  we  must  present  bim  lo  our  read- 
ers. Pitman  was  in  bis  studio  alone,  by  tbe  dying  ligbt  of 
tbe  October  day.  He  sat  (sure  enougb  witb  "  unaffected 
simplicity  ")  in  a  Windsor  cbair,  bis  low-crowned  black 
felt  bat  by  bis  side  ;  a  dark,  weak,  harmless,  pathetic 
little  man,  clad  in  tbe  hue  of  moui'niug,  his  coat  longer 


WILLIAM    DEXT    PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.  95 

than  is  usual  with  the  laity,  his  neck  enclosed  in  a  collar 
without  a  parting,  his  neckcloth  pale  in  hue  and  simply 
tied  ;  the  whole  outward  man,  except  for  a  pointed  beard, 
tentatively  clerical.  There  was  a  thinning  on  the  top  of 
Pitman's  head,  there  were  silver  hairs  at  Pitman's  temple ; 
poor  gentleman,  he  was  no  longer  young  ;  and  years,  and 
poverty,  and  humble  ambition  thwarted,  make  a  cheerless 
lot. 

In  front  of  him,  in  the  comer  by  the  door,  there  stood 
a  portly  bairel ;  and  let  him  turn  them  where  he  might, 
it  was  always  to  the  barrel  that  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts 
returned, 

"Should  I  open  it?  Should  I  return  it?  Should  I 
communicate  with  Mr.  Semitopolis  at  once?"  he  won- 
dered. "No,"  he  concluded  finally,  "nothing  without 
Mr.  Finsbury's  advice."  And  he  arose  and  produced  a 
shabby  leathern  desk.  It  opened  without  the  formality 
of  unlocking,  and  displayed  the  thick  cream-colored  note 
paper  on  which  IMr.  Pitman  was  in  the  habit  of  communi- 
cating with  the  proprietors  of  schools  and  the  parents  of 
his  pupils.  He  placed  the  desk  on  the  table  by  the  win- 
dow, and  taking  a  saucer  of  Indian  ink  from  the  chimney- 
piece,  laboriously  composed  the  following  letter : 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Finsbury,"  it  ran,  "  would  it  be  presum- 
ing on  your  kindness  if  I  asked  you  to  pay  me  a  visit  here 
this  evening?  It  is  in  no  trifling  matter  that  I  invoke 
your  valuable  assistance,  for  need  I  say  more  than  it  con- 
cerns the  welfare  of  Mr.  Semitopolis's  statue  of  Hercules? 


y<^»  TIIK    WRONG    i;OX. 

I  write  you  in  great  agitutiou  of  mind  ;  for  I  have  made 
all  inquiries,  and  greatly  fear  that  this  work  of  ancient 
art  Las  been  mislaid.  I  labor  besides  under  another  per- 
i:)lexity,  not  unconnected  with  the  first.  Pray  excuse  the 
inelegance  of  this  scrawl,  and  believe  me  yours  in  haste, 
William  D.  Pitman." 

Armed  with  this  he  set  forth  and  rang  the  bell  of  No. 
233  King's  Eoad,  the  private  residence  of  Michael  Fins- 
biu-y.  He  had  met  the  lawyer  at  a  time  of  great  public 
excitement  in  Chelsea  ;  Michael,  who  had  a  sense  of  hu- 
mor and  a  great  deal  of  careless  kindness  in  his  nature, 
followed  the  acquaintance  ujd,  and  having  come  to  laugh, 
remained  to  drop  into  a  contemj)tuous  kind  of  friendship. 
By  this  time,  which  was  four  years  after  the  first  meeting, 
Pitman  was  the  lawyer's  dog. 

"No,"  said  the  elderly  housekeeper  who  opened  the 
door  in  person,  "  Mr.  Michael's  not  in  yet.  But  ye're 
looking  terrible  poorly,  Mr.  Pitman.  Take  a  glass  of 
sherry,  sir,  to  cheer  ye  up." 

"No,  I  thank  you,  ma'am,"  replied  the  artist.  "  It  is 
very  good  in  you,  but  I  scarcely  feel  in  sufficient  si)irits 
for  sherry.  Just  give  Mr.  Fiusbury  this  note,  and  ask  him 
to  look  round — to  the  door  in  the  lane,  you  will  please 
tell  him  ;  I  shall  be  in  the  studio  all  evening." 

And  he  turned  again  into  the  street  and  walked  slowly 
homeward.  A  hair-dresser's  window  caught  his  attention, 
and  he  stared  long  and  earnestly  at  the  proud,  high-born, 
waxen  lady  in  evening  dress,  who  circulated  in  the  centre 


WILLIAM    DENT   PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.         97 

of  the  show.     The  artist   woke   iii  him,  in    spite   of  his 
troubles. 

"  It  is  all  veiy  well  to  run  down  the  men  who  make 
these  things,"  he  cried,  "  but  there's  a  something— there's 
ti  haughty,  indefinable  something  about  that  figure.  It's 
what  I  tried  for  in  my  Empress  Eugenie,"  he  added,  with 
u  sigh. 

And  he  went  home  reflecting  on  the  quality.  "  They 
don't  teach  you  that  direct  appeal  in  Paris,"  he  thought. 
"  It's  British.  Come,  I  am  going  to  sleep,  I  must  wake 
up,  I  must  aim  higher — aim  higher,"  cried  the  little  artist 
to  himself.  All  through  his  tea  and  afterward,  as  he  was 
giving  his  eldest  boy  a  lesson  on  the  fiddle,  his  mind 
dwelt  no  longer  on  his  troubles,  but  he  was  wrapt  into  the 
better  land  ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  at  liberty  than  he  has- 
tened with  positive  exhilaration  to  his  studio. 

Not  even  the  sight  of  the  barrel  could  entirely  cast  him 
down.  He  flung  himself  with  rising  zest  into  his  work — 
a  bust  of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  a  photograph  ;  turned  (with 
extraordinary  success)  the  difficulty  of  the  back  of  the 
head,  for  which  he  had  no  documents  beyond  a  hazy 
recollection  of  a  public  meeting  ;  delighted  himself  by 
his  treatment  of  the  collar  ;  and  was  only  recalled  to  the 
cares  of  life  by  Michael  Finsbury's  rattle  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  what's  wrong  ?  "  said  Michael,  advancing  to  the 
grate  where,  knowing  his  friend's  delight  in  a  bright  fire, 
Mr.  Pitman  had  not  spared  the  fuel.  "I  suppose  you 
have  come  to  grief  somehow." 


98  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"There  is  no  expression  strong  enough,"  said  the  artist 
•'Mr.  SemitopoHs's  statue  has  not  turned  up,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  be  answerable  for  the  money  ;  but  I  think 
nothing  of  that — what  I  fear,  my  dear  Mr.  Finsbuiy,  what 
I  fear — alas,  that  I  should  have  to  say  it ! — is  exposure. 
The  Hercules  was  to  be  smuggled  out  of  Italy  ;  a  thing 
positively  wrong,  a  thing  of  which  a  man  of  my  princi- 
ples and  in  my  responsible  position  should  have  taken 
(as  I  now  see  too  late)  no  part  whatever." 

"  This  sounds  like  very  serious  work,"  snid  the  lawyer 
"It  will  require  a  great  deal  of  drink,  Pitman." 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of — in  short,  of  being  prepared  for 
you,"  replied  the  artist,  pointing  to  a  kettle,  a  bottle  of 
gin,  a  lemon,  and  glasses. 

Michael  mixed  himself  a  grog,  and  oflFered  the  artist  a 
cigar. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Pitman.  "  I  used  occasionally 
to  be  rather  partial  to  it,  but  the  smell  is  so  disagreeable 
about  the  clothes." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  lawj^er.  "  I  am  comfortable  now. 
Uufold  your  tale." 

At  some  length.  Pitman  set  forth  his  sorrows.  He  had 
gone  to-day  to  Waterloo,  expecting  to  receive  the  colossal 
Hercules,  and  he  had  received  instead  a  barrel  not  big 
enough  to  hold  Discobolus  ;  yet  the  barrel  was  addressed 
in  the  hand  (with  which  he  was  perfectly  acquainted)  of 
his  Roman  correspondent.  What  was  stranger  still,  a  case 
had  arrived  by  the  same  train,  large  enough  and  heavy 


WILLIAM    DENT    PITSIAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.         99 

enough  to  contain  tlie  Hercules ;  and  this  case  had  been 
taken  to  an  address  now  un discoverable.  "  The  van  man 
(I  regret  to  say  it)  had  been  drinking,  and  his  language 
was  such  as  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  repeat.  He 
was  at  once  discharged  by  the  supeiintendent  of  the  line, 
who  behaved  most  properly  throughout  and  is  to  make 
inquiries  at  Southampton.  In  the  meanwhile,  what  was  I 
to  do  ?  I  left  my  address  and  brought  the  barrel  home  ; 
but  remembering  an  old  adage,  I  determined  not  to  open 
it  except  in  the  presence  of  my  lawj'er." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Michael.  "  I  don't  see  any  cause 
to  worry.  The  Hercules  has  stuck  upon  the  road.  It 
will  drop  in  to-morrow  or  the  day  after  ;  and  as  for  the 
barrel,  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  testimonial  from  one  of  your 
young  ladies,  and  probably  contains  oysters." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  so  loud  !  "  cried  the  little  artist.  "  It 
would  cost  me  my  place  if  I  were  heard  to  speak  lightly 
of  the  young  ladies,  and  besides,  why  oysters  from  Italy  ? 
and  why  should  they  come  to  me  addressed  in  Signor 
Kicardi's  hand  ?  " 

"Well,  let's  have  a  look  at  it,"  said  Michael.  "Let's 
roll  it  forward  to  the  light." 

The  two  men  rolled  the  barrel  from  the  comer,  and 
stood  it  on  end  before  the  fire. 

"It's  heavy  enough  to  be  oysters,"  remarked  Michael, 
judiciously. 

"  Shall  we  open  it  at  once  ?  "  inquired  the  artist,  who 
had    grown    decidedly    cheerful    under    the    combined 


100  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

effects  of  company  and  gin  ;  and  without  waiting  for  a 
repl}',  he  began  to  strip  as  if  for  a  prize-fight,  tossed  his 
clerical  collar  in  the  waste-paper  basket,  hung  his  clerical 
coat  upon  a  nail,  and  with  a  chisel  in  one  hand  and  a 
hammer  in  the  other,  struck  the  first  blow  of  the  even- 
ing. 

"That's  the  style,  William  Dent!"  cried  Michael. 
"  There's  fire  for  your  money  !  It  may  be  a  romantic 
visit  from  one  of  the  young  ladies — a  sort  of  Cleopatra  bus- 
iness.    Have  a  care,  and  don't  stave  in  Cleopatra's  head." 

But  the  siglit  of  Pitman's  alacrity  was  infectious.  The 
lawyer  could  sit  still  no  longer.  Tossing  his  cigar  into 
the  fire,  he  snatched  the  instrument  from  the  unwilling 
hands  of  the  artist,  and  fell  to  himself.  Soon  the  sweat 
stood  in  beads  ujDon  his  large,  fair  brow  ;  his  stylish 
trousers  were  defaced  with  iron  rust,  and  the  state  of  his 
chisel  testified  to  misdirected  energies. 

A  cask  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  open,  even  when  you  set 
about  it  in  the  right  way  ;  when  you  set  about  it  wrongl}', 
the  whole  structure  must  be  resolved  into  its  elements. 
Such  was  the  course  pursued  alike  by  the  artist  and  the 
lawyer.  Presently  the  last  hoop  had  been  removed — a 
couple  of  smart  blows  tumbled  the  staves  iipon  the 
ground — and  what  had  once  been  a  barrel  was  no  more 
than  a  confused  heap  of  broken  and  distorted  boards. 

In  the  midst  of  tliese,  a  certain  dismal  something, 
swathed  in  blankets,  remained  for  an  instant  upright,  and 
then  toppled  to  one  side  and  heavily  collapsed  before  the 


WILLIAM    DENT    PITMAN    TAKES   LEGAL    ADVICE.      101 

fire.  Even  as  the  thing  subsided,  an  eye-glass  tingled  to 
the  floor  and  rolled  toward  the  screaming  Pitman. 

"Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  Michael.  He  dashed  to  the 
house  door  and  locked  it ;  then,  with  a  pale  face  and  bit- 
ten lip,  he  drew  near,  pulled  aside  a  corner  of  the  swathing 
blanket,  and  recoiled,  shuddering. 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  studio. 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  Michael,  in  a  low  voice  :  "Had  you 
any  hand  in  it?  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  body. 

The  little  artist  could  only  utter  broken  and  disjointed 
sounds. 

Michael  poured  some  gin  into  a  glass.  "Drink  that," 
he  said.  "Don't  be  afraid  of  me.  I'm  your  friend  through 
thick  and  thin." 

Pitman  put  the  liquor  down  untasted. 

"I  swear  before  God,"  he  said,  "this  is  another  mystery 
to  me.  In  my  worst  fears,  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a 
thing.     I  would  not  lay  a  finger  on  a  sucking  infant." 

"That's  all  square,"  said  Michael,  with  a  sigh  of  huge 
relief.  "I  believe  you,  old  boy."  And  he  shook  the  artist 
warmly  by  the  hand.  "I  thought  for  a  moment,"  he  added, 
with  rather  a  ghastly  smile,  "I  thought  for  a  moment  you 
might  have  made  way  with  Mr.  Semitopolis." 

"  It  would  make  no  difference  if  I  had,"  groaned  Pitman. 
"All  is  at  an  end  for  me.  There's  the  writing  on  the 
wall" 

"  To  begin  with,  "said  Michael,  "  let's  get  him  out  of  sight ; 
for  to  be  quite  plain  with  you.  Pitman,  I  don't  like  your 


102  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

friend's  appearance."  And  with  that  the  lawyer  shuddered 
"  Where  can  we  put  it  ?  " 

"You  might  put  it  in  the  closet  there — if  you  could 
bear  to  touch  it,"  answered  the  artist. 

"  Somebody  has  to  do  it,  Pitman,"  returned  the  lawyer  ; 
"  and  it  seems  as  if  it  had  to  be  me.  You  go  over  to  the 
table,  turn  your  back,  and  mix  me  a  grog ;  that's  a  fair 
division  of  labor." 

About  ninety  seconds  later,  the  closet  door  was  heard 
to  shut. 

"There,"  observed  Michael,  "that's  more  home-like. 
You  can  turn  nOw,  my  pallid  Pitman.  Is  this  the  grog?  " 
he  ran  on.     "  Heaven  forgive  you,  it's  a  lemonade  !  " 

"But  oh,  Finsbury,  what  are  we  to  do  with  it?"  wailed 
the  artist,  laying  a  clutching  hand  upon  the  lawyer's 
arm. 

"  Do  with  it  ?"  i-epeated  Michael.  "  Bury  it  in  one  of 
your  flower-beds,  and  erect  one  of  your  own  statues  for  a 
monument.  I  tell  you  we  should  look  devilish  romantic 
shovelling  out  the  sod  by  the  moon's  pale  ray.  Here,  put 
some  gin  in  this." 

"Ibeg  of  you,  Mr.  Finsbury,  do  not  trifle  with  my  misery," 
cried  Pitman.  "  You  see  before  you  a  man  who  has  been 
all  his  life — I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  it — eminently  respect- 
able. Even  in  this  solemn  hour  I  can  lay  my  hand  upon 
my  heart  without  a  blush.  Except  on  the  really  trifling 
point  of  the  smuggling  of  the  Hercules  (and  even  of  that 
I  now  humbly  repent),  my  life  has  been  entirely  fit  for 


WILLIAM    DENT    PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.      103 

publication.  I  never  feared  the  light,"  cried  the  little 
man  ;  "  and  now — now —  !  " 

"  Cheer  up,  old  boy,"  said  Michael.  "I  assure  you  we 
should  count  this  little  contretemps  a  trifle  at  the  ofl&ce  ; 
it's  the  sort  of  thing  that  may  occur  to  anyone  ;  and  if 
you're  perfectly  sure  you  had  no  hand  in  it " 

"What  language  am  I  to  find — "  began  Pitman. 

"Oh,  I'll  do  that  part  of  it,"  interrupted  Michael,  "you 
have  no  experience.  But  the  point  is  this  :  If — or  rather 
since — you  know  nothing  of  the  crime,  since  the — the 
party  in  the  closet — is  neither  your  father,  nor  your 
brother,  nor  your  creditor,  nor  your  mother-in-law,  nor 
what  they  call  an  injured  husband " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir  ! "  interjected  Pitman,  horrified. 

"Since,  in  short,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "you  had  no 
possible  interest  in  the  crime,  we  have  a  perfectly  free 
field  before  us  and  a  safe  game  to  play.  Indeed  the  prob- 
lem is  really  entertaining  ;  it  is  one  I  have  long  contem- 
plated in  the  light  of  an  A.  B.  case  ;  here  it  is  at  last 
under  my  hand  in  specie  ;  and  I  mean  to  pull  you 
through.  Do  you  hear  that? — I  mean  to  pull  you 
through.  Let  me  see  :  it's  a  long  time  since  I  have  had 
what  I  call  a  genuine  holiday  ;  I'll  send  an  excuse  to-mor- 
row to  the  office.  We  had  best  be  lively,"  he  added,  sig- 
nificantly ;  "  for  we  must  not  spoil  the  market  for  the 
other  man." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Pitman.  "What 
other  man  ?     The  inspector  of  police  ?  " 


104  THE    \VRO>.'0    BOX. 

"  Damn  the  inspector  of  police  ! "  remarked  his  com- 
paniou.  "  If  you  won't  take  the  short  cut  and  bury  this 
in  your  back  garden,  we  must  find  someone  who  will 
bury  it  in  his.  We  must  place  the  atlair,  in  short,  in  the 
hands  of  someone  of  fewer  scruples  and  more  resources," 

"  A  private  detective,  perhaps  ?  "  suggested  Pitman. 

"There  are  times  when  you  fill  me  with  pity,"  observed 
the  lawyer.  "By  the  way.  Pitman,"  he  added,  in  another 
key.  "I  have  always  regretted  that  you  have  no  piano  in 
this  den  of  yours.  Even  if  you  don't  play  yourself,  your 
friends  might  like  to  entertain  themselves  with  a  little 
music  while  you  were  mudding." 

"I  shall  get  one  at  once  if  you  like,"  said  Pitman,  ner- 
vously, anxious  to  please.  "I  play  the  fiddle  a  httle  as 
it  is." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  said  Michael ;  "  but  what's  the  fid- 
dle— above  all  as  you  play  it  ?  What  you  want  is  poly- 
phonic music.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  since  it's  too 
late  for  you  to  buy  a  piano  I'll  give  you  mine." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  artist,  blankly.  "You  will  give 
me  3'ours?    I  am  sure  it's  very  good  in  you." 

"  Yes,  I'll  give  you  mine,"  continued  Michael,  "  for  the 
inspector  of  police  to  play  on  while  his  men  are  digging 
up  your  back  garden." 

Pitman  stared  at  him  in  pained  amazement. 

"No,  I'm  not  insane,"  Michael  went  on.  "I'm  playful 
but  quite  coherent.  See  here.  Pitman  ;  follow  me  one 
half  minute.     I  mean  to  profit  by  the  refreshing  fact  that 


"WILLIAM   DENT   PITMAN    TAKES    LEGAL    ADVICE.     105 

we  are  really  and  truly  innocent ;  nothing  but  the  pres- 
ence of  the — you  know  what — connects  us  with  the 
crime  ;  once  let  us  get  rid  of  it,  no  matter  how,  and  there 
is  no  possible  clue  to  trace  us  by.  Well,  I  give  you  my 
piano  ;  we'll  bring  it  round  this  very  night.  To-morrow, 
we  rip  the  fittings  out,  deposit  the — our  friend — mside, 
plump  the  whole  on  a  cart,  and  cany  it  to  the  chambers 
of  a  young  gentleman  whom  I  know  by  sight." 

"Whom  do  you  know  by  sight?"  repeated  Pitman. 

"And what  is  more  to  the  purpose,"  continued  Michael, 
"whose  chambers  I  know  better  than  he  does  himself. 
A  friend  of  mine — I  call  him  my  friend  for  brevity  ;  he  is 
now,  I  understand,  in  Demerara  and  (most  likely)  in  jail 
— was  the  previous  occupant.  I  defended  him,  and  I  got 
him  off  too — aU  saved  but  honor  ;  his  assets  were  nil,  but 
he  gave  me  what  he  had,  poor  gentleman,  and  along  with 
the  rest — the  key  of  his  chambers.  It's  there  that  I  pro- 
pose to  leave  the  piano  and,  shall  we  say,  Cleopatra  ?  " 

"It  seems  very  wild,"  said  Pitman.  "And  what  will 
become  of  the  poor  young  gentleman  whom  you  know  by 
sight?" 

"  It  will  do  him  good,"  said  IMichael,  cheerily.  "  Just 
what  he  wants  to  steady  him." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  he  might  be  involved  in  a  charge  of 
— a  charge  of  murder,"  gulped  the  artist. 

"  Well,  he'll  be  just  where  we  are,"  returned  the  lawyer. 
"  He's  innocent,  you  see.  What  hangs  people,  my  dear 
Pitman,  is  the  unfortunate  circumstance  of  guilt." 


106  Tin;    WKONO    BOX. 

"But  indeed,  indeed,"  pleaded  Pitman,  "the  whole 
scheme  appears  to  me  so  wild.  Would  it  not  be  safer, 
after  all,  just  to  send  for  the  police?" 

"And  make  a  scandal?"  inquired  Michael.  "'The 
Chelsea  Mystery  ;  alleged  innocence  of  Pitman  ?  '  How 
would  that  do  at  the  Semiuaiy  ?  " 

"It  would  imply  my  discharge,"  admitted  the  drawing- 
master.     "I  cannot  deny  that." 

"  And  besides,"  said  Michael,  "  I  am  not  going  to  em- 
bark in  such  a  business  and  have  no  fun  for  my  money." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir,  is  that  a  proper  spirit  ?  "  cried  Pit- 
«ian. 

"Oh,  I  only  said  that  to  cheer  you  up,"  said  the  un- 
abashed Michael.  "  Nothing  like  a  little  judicious  levity. 
But  it's  quite  needless  to  discuss.  If  you  mean  to  follow 
my  advice,  come  on,  and  let  us  get  the  piano  at  once.  If 
you  don't,  just  drop  me  the  word,  and  I'll  leave  you  to 
deal  with  the  whole  thing  according  to  your  better  judg- 
ment." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  depend  on  you  en- 
tirely," returned  Pitman.  "  But  oh,  what  a  night  is  before 
me  with  that — horror  in  my  studio  !  How  am  I  to  think 
of  it  on  my  pillow  ?  " 

"Well,  you  know,  my  piano  will  be  there  too,"  said 
I\lichacl.     "That'll  raise  the  average." 

An  hour  later  a  cart  came  up  the  lane,  and  the  lawyer's 
piano — a  momentous  Broadwood  grand — was  deposited  in 
Mr.  Pitman's  studio. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

EN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBURY    ENJOYS    A   HOLIDAY. 

Punctually  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning  the  lawyer 
rattled  (according  to  previous  appointment)  on  the  studio 
door.  He  found  the  artist  sadly  altered  for  the  worse — 
bleached,  bloodshot,  and  chalky— a  man  upon  wires,  the 
tail  of  his  haggard  eye  still  wandering  to  the  closet.  Nor 
was  the  professor  of  drawing  less  inclined  to  wonder  at 
his  friend.  Michael  was  usually  attired  in  the  height  of 
fashion,  with  a  certain  mercantile  brilliancy  best  described 
perhaps  as  stylish  ;  nor  could  anything  be  said  against 
him,  as  a  rule,  but  that  he  looked  a  trifle  too  like  a  wed- 
ding guest  to  be  quite  a  gentleman.  To-day  he  had 
fallen  altogether  from  these  heights.  He  wore  a  flannel 
shirt  of  washed-out  shepherd's  tartan,  and  a  suit  of  red- 
dish tweeds,  of  the  color  known  to  tailors  as  "heather 
mixture  ; "  his  neckcloth  was  black,  and  tied  loosely  in  a 
sailor's  knot ;  a  rusty  ulster  partly  concealed  these  advan- 
tages ;  and  his  feet  were  shod  with  rough,  walking  boots. 
His  hat  was  an  old  soft  felt,  which  he  removed  with  a 
flourish  as  he  entered. 

"Here  I  am,  William  Dent!"  he  cried,  and  drawing 
from  his  pocket  two  little  wisps  of  reddish  hair,  he  held 


108  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

them  to  his  cheeks  like  side- whiskers  and  danced  about 
the  studio  with  the  filmy  graces  of  a  ballet-girl. 

Pitman  laughed  sadly.  "  I  should  never  have  known 
you,"  said  he. 

"Nor  were  you  intended  to,"  returned  Michael,  replac- 
ing his  false  whiskers  in  his  pocket.  "  Now  we  must 
overhaul  you  and  your  wardrobe,  and  disguise  j'ou  up  to 
the  nines." 

"  Disguise  !  "  cried  the  artist.  "  Must  I  indeed  disguise 
myself  ?     Has  it  come  to  that  ?  " 

"  My  dear  creature,"  returned  his  companion,  "  disguise 
is  the  spice  of  life.  What  is  life,  passionately  exclaimed 
the  French  j)hilosopher,  without  the  pleasures  of  disguise  ? 
I  don't  say  it's  always  good  taste,  and  I  know  it's  unpro- 
fessional ;  but  what's  the  odds,  down-hearted  drawing- 
master  ?  It  has  to  be.  We  have  to  leave  a  false  impres- 
sion on  the  minds  of  many  persons,  and  in  particular  on 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth — the  young  gentleman  I 
know  by  sight — if  he  should  have  the  bad  taste  to  be  at 
home." 

"If  he  be  at  home?"  faltered  the  artist.  "  That  would 
be  the  end  of  all." 

"  AVon't  matter  a  d ,"  returned  IVIichael,  airily.    "  Let 

me  see  your  clothes,  and  I'll  make  a  new  man  of  you  in  a 
jiffy." 

In  the  bedroom,  to  which  he  was  at  once  conducted, 
Michael  examined  Pitman's  poor  and  scanty  wardrobe  with 
a  humorous  eye,  picked  out  a  short  jacket  of  black  alpaca, 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBURY    ENJOYS    A   HOLIDAY.    109 

and  presently  added  to  that  a  pair  of  summer  trousers 
which  somehow  took  his  fancy  as  incongruous.  Then, 
with  the  garments  in  his  hand,  he  scrutinized  the  artist 
closely. 

"  I  don't  like  that  clerical  collar,"  he  remarked.  "Have 
you  nothing  else  ?  " 

The  professor  of  drawing  pondered  for  a  moment,  and 
then  brightened ;  "I  have  a  pair  of  low-necked  shirts,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  used  to  wear  in  Paris  as  a  student.  They 
are  rather  loud." 

"The  very  thing!"  ejaculated  Michael.  "You'll  look 
perfectly  beastly.  Here  are  spats,  too,"  he  continued, 
drawing  forth  a  pair  of  those  offensive  little  gaiters. 
"  Must  have  spats  !  And  now  you  jump  into  these,  and 
whistle  a  tune  at  the  window  for  (say)  three-quarters  of 
an  hour.  After  that  you  can  rejoin  me  on  the  field  of 
glory." 

So  saying  Michael  returned  to  the  studio.  It  was  the 
morning  of  the  easterly  gale  ;  the  wind  blew  shrilly  among 
the  statues  in  the  garden,  and  drove  the  rain  upon  the 
skylight  in  the  studio  ceiling  ;  and  at  about  the  same 
moment  of  time  when  Morris  attacked  the  hundredth  ver- 
sion of  his  uncle's  signature  in  Bloomsbury,  Michael,  in 
Chelsea,  began  to  rip  the  wires  out  of  the  Broadwood 
grand. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  Pitman  was  admitted 
to  find  the  closet-door  standing  open,  the  closet  unten- 
anted, and  the  piano  discreetly  shut. 


110  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"  It's  a  remarkably  heavy  instrument,"  observed 
j\Iichael,  and  turned  to  consider  his  friend's  disguise. 
"You  must  shave  off  that  beard  of  yours,"  he  said. 

"My  beard!"  cried  Pitman.  "I  cannot  shave  my 
beard.  I  cannot  tamper  with  my  appearance — my  prin- 
cipals would  object  They  hold  very  strong  views  as  to 
the  appearance  of  the  professors — young  ladies  are  con- 
sidered so  romantic.  My  beard  was  regarded  as  quite  a 
feature  when  I  went  about  the  place.  It  was  regarded," 
said  the  artist,  with  rising  color,  "it  was  regarded  as  un- 
becoming." 

"  You  can  let  it  grow  again,"  returned  Michael,  "and 
then  you'll  be  so  precious  ugly  that  they'U  raise  your 
salary." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  look  ugly,"  cried  the  artist. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Michael,  who  hated  beards 
and  was  delighted  to  destroy  one.  "  Off  with  it  like  a 
man  ! 

"  Of  course,  if  you  insist,"  said  Pitman  ;  and  then  he 
sighed,  fetched  some  hot  water  from  the  kitchen,  and 
setting  a  glass  upon  his  easel,  first  clipped  his  beard  with 
scissors  and  then  shaved  his  chin.  He  could  not  conceal 
from  himself,  as  he  regarded  the  result,  that  his  last 
claims  to  manhood  had  been  sacrified,  but  Michael  seemed 
dehghted. 

"  A  new  man,  I  declare  ! "  he  cried.  "  When  I  give  you 
the  window-glass  spectacles  I  have  in  my  pocket,  you'll 
be  the  beau  ideal  of  a  French  commei'cial  traveller." 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSSURY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    Ill 

Pitman  did  not  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze  disconso- 
lately on  his  image  in  the  glass. 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  IMichael,  "  what  the  Governor 
of  South  Carolina  said  to  the  Governor  of  North  Caro- 
lina? 'It's  a  long  time  between  drinks,'  observed  that 
powerful  thinker  ;  and  if  you  will  put  your  hand  into  the 
top  left-hand  pocket  of  my  ulster,  I  have  an  impression 
you  will  find  a  flask  of  brandy.  Thank  you.  Pitman,"  he 
added,  as  he  filled  out  a  glass  for  each.  "Now  you  will 
give  me  news  of  this." 

The  artist  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  water-jug,  but 
Michael  arrested  the  movement. 

"  Not  if  you  went  upon  your  knees  ! "  he  cried.  "  This 
is  the  finest  liqueur  brandy  in  Great  Britain." 

Pitman  put  his  lips  to  it,  set  it  down  again,  and 
sighed. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you're  the  poorest  companion  for  a 
holiday!"  cried  Michael.  '-If  that's  all  you  know  of 
brandy,  you  shall  have  no  more  of  it ;  and  while  I  finish 
the  flask,  you  may  as  well  begin  business.  Come  to  think 
of  it,"  he  broke  off,  "I  have  made  an  abominable  error: 
you  should  have  ordered  the  cart  before  you  were  dis- 
guised. Why,  Pitman,  what  the  devil's  the  use  of  you  ? 
why  couldn't  you  have  reminded  me  of  that  ?  " 

"I  never  even  knew  there  was  a  cart  to  be  ordered," 
said  the  artist.  "But  I  can  take  off  the  disguise  again," 
he  suggested  eagerly. 

"You  would  find   it   rather  a  bother  to  put  on  your 


112  THK    AVKONG    BOX. 

beard,"  observed  the  lawyer.  "No,  it's  a  false  step  ;  the 
sort  of  thing  that  hangs  i^eople,"  he  continued,  with  emi- 
nent cheerfulness,  as  he  sipped  his  brandy  ;  "  and  it  can't 
be  retraced  now.  Off  to  the  mews  with  you,  make  all  the 
arrangements  ;  they're  to  take  the  piano  from  here,  cart 
it  to  Victoria,  and  despatch  it  thence  by  rail  to  Cannon 
Street,  to  lie  till  called  for  in  the  name  of  Fortune  du 
Boisgobey." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  an  awkward  name  ?  "  pleaded  Pitman. 

"  Awkward  ? "  cried  Michael,  scornfully.  "  It  would 
hang  us  both !  Brown  is  both  safer  and  easier  to  pro- 
nounce.    Call  it  Brown." 

"I  wish,"  said  Pitman,  "for  my  sake,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  so  much  of  hanging." 

"  Talking  about  it's  nothing,  my  boy ! "  returned 
Michael.  "But  take  your  hat  and  be  off,  and  mind  and 
pay  everything  beforehand." 

Left  to  himself,  the  lawyer  turned  his  attention  for  some 
time  exclusively  to  the  liqueur  brandy,  and  his  spirits, 
which  had  been  pretty  fair  all  morning,  now  prodigiously 
rose.  He  proceeded  to  adjust  his  whiskers  finally  befoi-e 
the  glass.  "Devilish  rich,"  he  remarked,  as  he  contem- 
plated his  reflection,  "  I  look  like  a  purser's  mate."  And 
at  that  moment,  the  window-glass  spectacles  (which  he  had 
hitherto  destined  for  Pitman)  flashed  into  his  mind  ;  he 
put  them  on,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  effect.  "Just  what 
I  required,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  what  I  look  like  now? 
A  humorous  novelist,  I  should  think,"  and  he  began  to 


IN    AVHIOII    MICHAEL    FINSBURY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.     113 

practise  divers  characters  of  walk,  naming  them  to  himself 
as  he  proceeded.  "  Walk  of  a  humorous  novelist — but 
that  would  require  an  umbrella.  "Walk  of  a  purser's  mate. 
Walk  of  an  Australian  colonist  revisitinof  the  scenes  of 
childhood.  Walk  of  Sepoy  colonel,  ditto,  ditto."  And  in 
the  midst  of  the  Sepoy  colonel  (which  was  an  excellent 
assumption,  although  inconsistent  with  the  style  of  his 
make-up),  his  eye  lighted  on  the  piano.  This  instrument 
was  made  to  lock  both  at  the  top  and  at  the  keyboard, 
but  the  key  of  the  latter  had  been  mislaid.  Michael 
opened  it  and  ran  his  fingers  over  the  dumb  keys.  "  Fine 
instrument — full,  rich  tone,"  he  observed,  and  he  drew  in 
a  seat. 

When  Mr.  Pitman  returned  to  the  studio,  he  was  ap- 
palled to  observe  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  per- 
forming miracles  of  execution  on  the  silent  grand. 

"  Heaven  help  me  !  "  thought  the  little  man,  "I  fear  he 
has  been  drinking!  Mr.  Finsbury,"  ho  said  aloud;  and 
Michael,  without  rising,  turned  ujDon  him  a  countenance 
somewhat  flushed,  encircled  with  the  bush  of  the  red 
whiskers,  and  bestridden  by  the  spectacles.  "Capriccio 
in  B-flat  on  the  departure  of  a  friend,"  said  he,  continuing 
his  noiseless  evolutions. 

Indignation  awoke  in  the  mind  of  Pitman.  "  Those 
spectacles  were  to  be  mine,"  he  cried.  "  They  are  an  es- 
sential part  of  my  disguise." 

"I  am  going  to  wear  them  myself,"  replied  Michael; 
and  he  added,   with  some  show  of  truth,   "  there  would 


114 


THE    WRONG    BOX. 


be  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  suspiciou  aroused  if  we  both  wore 
spectacles." 

"  Oil,  weU,"  said  the  assenting  Pitman,  "  I  rather  counted 
on  them  ;  but  of  course,  if  you  insist !  And  at  any  rate, 
here  is  the  cart  at  the  door." 

While  the  men  were  at  work,  Michael  concealed  himself 
in  the  closet  among  the  debris  of  the  barrel  and  the  wires 
of  the  piano  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear,  the  pair 
sallied  forth  by  the  lane,  jumped  into  a  hansom  in  the 
King's  Koad,  and  were  driven  rapidly  toward  town.    It  was 
stiU  cold  and  raw  and  boisterous  ;  the  rain  beat  strongly 
in  their  faces,  but  IMichael  refused  to  have  the  glass  let 
down ;  he  had  now  suddenly  donned  the  character  of  ci- 
cerone, and  pointed  out  and  lucidly  commented  on  the 
sights  of  London,  as  they  drove.     "My  dear  fellow,"  he 
said,  "  you  don't  seem  to  know  anything  of  your  native 
city.     Suppose  we  visited  the  Tower  ?     No  ?     Well,  per- 
haps it's  a  trifle   out  of  our  way.     But  anyway— Here, 
Cabby,  drive  round  by  Trafalgar  Square  !  "     And  on  that 
historic  battle-field  he  insisted  on  drawing  up,  while  he 
criticised  the  statues  and  gave  the  artist  many  curious  de- 
tails (quite  new  to  histoiy)  of  the  lives  of  the  celebrated 
men  they  represented. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  express  what  Pitman  suffered  in 
the  cab  :  cold,  wet,  terror  in  the  capital  degree,  a  grounded 
distrust  of  the  commander  under  whom  he  served,  a  sense 
of  impudency  in  the  matter  of  the  low-necked  shirt,  a  bit- 
ter sense  of  the  decline  and  fall  involved  in  the  depriva- 


IX    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBURY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    115 

tion  of  bis  beai'd,  all  these  were  among  the  ingredients  of 
the  bowl.  To  reach  the  restaurant,  for  which  they  were 
deviously  steering,  was  the  first  relief.  To  hear  Michael 
bespeak  a  private  room  was  a  second  and  a  still  greater. 
Nor,  as  they  mounted  the  stair  under  the  guidance  of  an 
unintelligible  alien,  did  he  fail  to  note  with  gratitude  the 
fewness  of  the  persons  present,  or  the  still  more  cheering 
fact  that  the  greater  part  of  these  were  exiles  from  the 
land  of  France.  It  was  thus  a  blessed  thought  that  none 
of  them  would  be  connected  with  the  Semiuarv  ;  for  even 
the  French  professor,  though  admittedly  a  papist,  he 
could  scarce  imagine  frequenting  so  rakish  an  establish- 
ment. 

The  ahen  introduced  them  into  a  small,  bare  room  wdth 
a  single  table,  a  sofa,  and  a  dwarfish  fire  ;  and  Michael 
called  promptly  for  more  coals  and  a  couple  of  brandies 
and  sodas. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Pitman,  "surely  not; — no  more  to  drink." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  would  be  at,"  said  Michael, 
plaintively.  "  It's  positively  necessary  to  do  something  ; 
and  one  shouldn't  smoke  before  meals — I  thought  that 
was  understood.  You  seem  to  have  no  idea  of  hygiene." 
And  he  compared  his  watch  with  the  clock  upon  the 
chimney-piece. 

Pitman  fell  into  bitter  musing  ;  here  he  was,  ridicu- 
lously shorn,  absurdly  disguised,  in  the  company  of  a 
drunken  man  in  sjDectacles,  and  waiting  for  a  chamj^agne 
luncheon  in  a  restaurant  painfully  foreign.     What  would 


116  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

his  principals  think,  if  they  conld  see  him  ?  "What,  if 
they  knew  his  tragic  and  deceitful  errand  ? 

From  these  reilections  he  was  aroused  by  the  entrance 
of  the  alien  with  the  brandies  and  sodas.  Michael  took 
one  and  bade  the  waiter  pass  the  other  to  his  friend. 

Pitman  waved  it  from  him  with  his  hand.  "  Don't  let 
me  lose  all  self-respect,"  he  said. 

"  Anything  to  oblige  a  friend,"  returned  Michael.  "  But 
I'm  not  going  to  driuk  alone.  Here,"  he  added  to  the 
waiter,  "you  take  it."  And  then,  touching  glasses,  "The 
health  of  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth,"  said  he. 

"  Meestare  Gidden  Borsye,"  replied  the  waiter,  and  he 
tossed  off  the  liquor  in  four  gulps. 

"Have  another?"  said  Michael,  with  undisguised  inter- 
est. "  I  never  saw  a  man  drink  faster.  It  restores  one's 
confidence  in  the  human  race." 

But  the  waiter  excused  himself  politely,  and  assisted  by 
someone  from  without,  began  to  bring  in  lunch. 

Michael  made  an  excellent  meal,  which  he  washed  down 
with  a  bottle  of  Heidsieck's  dry  monopole.  As  for  the 
artist,  he  was  far  too  uneasy  to  eat,  and  his  companion 
flatly  refused  to  let  him  share  in  the  champagne  unless  he 
did. 

"  One  of  us  must  stay  sober,"  remarked  the  lawyer, 
"  and  I  won't  give  you  champagne  on  the  strength  of  a 
leg  of  grouse.  I  have  to  be  cautious,"  he  added,  confiden- 
tially. "  One  drunken  man,  excellent  business — two 
drunken  men,  all  my  eye." 


IN    WHICH    MICHAKL    FINSBUKY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.     117 

On  the  production  of  coffee  and  departure  of  the 
waiter,  Michael  might  have  been  observed  to  make  por- 
tentous efforts  after  gravity  of  mien.  He  looked  his 
friend  in  the  face  (one  eye  perhaps  a  trifle  off),  and  ad- 
dressed him  thickly  but  severely. 

"  Enough  of  this  fooling,"  was  his  not  inappropriate 
exordium.  "To  business.  Mark  me  closely.  I  am  an 
Australian.  My  name  is  John  Dickson,  though  you 
mightn't  think  it  from  my  unassuming  appearance.  You 
will  be  relieved  to  hear  that  I  am  rich,  sir,  very  rich. 
You  can't  go  into  this  sort  of  thing  too  thoroughly.  Pit- 
man ;  the  whole  secret  is  preparation,  and  I  get  up  my 
biography  from  the  beginning,  and  I  could  tell  it  you  now, 
only  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"Perhaps  I'm  stupid — "  began  Pitman. 

"That's  it!"  cried  Michael.  "Very  stupid;  but  rich 
too — richer  than  I  am.  I  thought  you  Avould  enjoy  it. 
Pitman,  so  I've  arranged  that  you  were  to  be  literally  wal- 
lowing in  wealth.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  you're 
only  an  American,  and  a  maker  of  india-rubber  overshoes 
at  that.  And  the  worst  of  it  is — why  should  I  conceal  it 
from  you — the  worst  of  it  is  that  you're  called  Ezra 
Thomas.  Now,"  said  Michael,  with  a  really  appalling 
seriousness  of  manner,  "  tell  me  who  we  are." 

The  unfortunate  little  man  was  cross-examined  till  he 
knew  these  facts  by  heart. 

"There!"  cried  the  lawyer.  "Our  plans  are  laid. 
Thoroughly  consistent — that's  the  gi'eat  thing." 


118  THE   WRONG   BOX, 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  objected  Pitman. 

"  Oh,  you'll  understand  right  enough  when  it  comes  to 
the  point,"  said  Michael,  rising. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  any  story  to  it,"  said  the  artist. 

"We  can  invent  one  as  we  go  along,"  retiirned  the 
lawyer. 

"But  I  can't  invent,"  pi'otested  Pitman.  "I  never 
could  invent  in  all  my  life." 

"  You'll  find  you  have  to,  my  boy,"  was  Michael's  easy 
comment,  and  he  began  calling  for  the  waiter,  with  whom 
he  at  once  resumed  a  sparkling  conversation. 

It  was  a  down-cast  little  man  that  followed  him.  "Of 
course  he  is  very  clever,  but  can  I  trust  him  in  such  a 
state?"  he  asked  himself.  And  when  they  were  once 
more  in  a  hansom,  he  took  heart  of  grace. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  faltered,  "it  would  be  wiser, 
considering  all  things,  to  put  this  business  off?" 

"Put  off  till  to-morrow  what  can  be  done  to-day?" 
cried  Michael,  with  indignation.  "  Never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  !  Cheer  up,  it's  aU  right,  go  in  and  win — there's 
a  lion-hearted  Pitman !  " 

At  Cannon  Street,  they  inquired  for  Mr.  Brown's  piano, 
which  had  duly  arrived,  drove  thence  to  a  neighboring 
mews,  where  they  contracted  for  a  cart,  and  while  that 
was  being  got  ready,  took  shelter  in  the  harness-room 
l)eside  the  stove.  Here  the  lawyer  presently  toppled 
against  the  wall  and  fell  into  a  gentle  slumber  ;  so  that 
Pitman  found  himself  launched  on  his  own  resources  in 


IN   WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBTJRY   ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    119 

the  midst  of  several  staring  loafers,  such  as  love  to  spend 
unprofitable  days  about  a  stable. 

"Eough  day,  sir,"  observed  one.     "Do  you  go  far?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a — rather  a  rough  day,"  said  the  artist ;  and 
then,  feehng  that  he  must  change  the  conversation,  "  my 
friend  is  an  Australian,  he  is  very  impulsive,"  he  added. 

•'  An  Australian  ?  "  said  another.  "  I've  a  brother  my- 
self in  Melbourne.  Does  your  friend  come  from  that  way 
ataU?" 

"No,  not  exactly,"  replied  the  artist,  whose  ideas  of 
the  geography  of  New  Holland  were  a  little  scattered. 
"  He  lives  immensely  far  inland,  and  is  very  rich." 

The  loafers  gazed  with  great  respect  upon  the  slumber- 
ing colonist. 

"  Well,"  remarked  the  second  speaker,  "  it's  a  mighty 
big  place,  is  Australia.  Do  you  come  from  there  away 
too  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  Pitman.  "  I  do  not,  and  I  don't 
want  to,"  He  added,  irritably.  And  then  feehng  some 
diversion  needful,  he  fell  upon  Michael  and  shook  him 
up. 

"Hullo,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  what's  wrong?" 

"  The  cart  is  nearly  ready,"  said  Pitman,  sternly.  "  I 
will  not  allow  you  to  sleep." 

"All  right — no  offence,  old  man,"  replied  Michael, 
yawning.  "  A  little  sleep  never  did  anybody  any  harm; 
I  feel  comparatively  sober  now.  But  what's  all  the 
hurry?"    he   added,    looking    round    him    glassily.      "I 


120  Tin;    WRONG    BOX. 

don't  see  the  cart,  and  I've  forgotten  where  we  left  the 
piano." 

What  more  the  lawyer  might  have  said,  in  the  con- 
fidence of  the  moment,  is  with  Pitman  a  matter  of  tremu- 
lous conjecture  to  this  day  ;  but  by  the  most  blessed  cir- 
cumstance, the  cart  was  then  announced,  and  Michael 
must  bend  the  forces  of  his  mind  to  the  more  difficult 
task  of  rising. 

"  Of  course,  you'll  drive,"  he  remarked  to  his  compan- 
ion, as  he  clambered  on  the  vehicle. 

"  I  drive  !  "  cried  Pitman.  "  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
in  my  life.     I  cannot  drive." 

"Very  well,"  responded  Michael,  with  entire  compos- 
ure, "  neither  can  I  see.  But  just  as  you  like.  Anything 
to  oblige  a  friend." 

A  glimpse  of  the  ostler's  darkening  countenance  de- 
cided Pitman.  "All  right,"  he  said,  desperately,  "you 
di-ive.     I'll  tell  you  where  to  go." 

On  Michael  in  the  character  of  charioteer  (since  this  is 
not  intended  to  be  a  novel  of  adventure)  it  would  be 
superfluous  to  dwell  at  length.  Pitman,  as  he  sat  hold- 
ing on  and  gasping  counsels,  sole  witness  of  this  singular 
feat,  knew  not  whether  most  to  admire  the  driver's  valor 
or  his  undeserved  good  fortune.  But  the  latter  at  least 
prevailed,  the  cart  reached  Cannon  Street  without  disas- 
ter ;  and  IVIr.  Brown's  i^iano  was  speedily  and  cleverly  got 
on  board. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  leading  porter,  smiling  as  he  men- 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FIXSBUKT    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    121 

tally  reckonecl  up  a  liandful  of  loose  silver,  "  that's  a  mor- 
tal beav}'  piano." 

"  It's  the  richness  of  the  tone,"  returned  INIichael,  as  he 
drove  away. 

It  was  but  a  little  distance  in  the  rain,  which  now  fell 
thick  and  quiet,  to  the  neighborhood  of  IMi'.  Gideon  For- 
syth's chambers  in  the  Temple.  There,  in  a  deserted  by- 
street, Michael  drew  up  the  horses  and  gave  them  in 
charge  to  a  blighted  shoe-black  ;  and  the  pair  descending 
from  the  cart,  whereon  they  had  figured  so  incongruously, 
set  forth  on  foot  for  the  decisive  scene  of  theii*  adventure. 
For  the  first  time,  IMichael  displayed  a  shadow  of  uneasi- 
ness. 

"  Ai-e  my  whiskers  right  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  would  be 
the  devil  and  all  if  I  was  spotted." 

"  They  are  perfectly  in  their  place,"  returned  Pitman, 
with  scant  attention.  "But  is  my  disguise  equally  ef- 
fective ?  Thei'e  is  nothing  more  likely  than  that  I  should 
meet  some  of  my  patrons." 

"  Oh,  nobody  could  tell  you  without  your  beard,"  said 
Michael.  "  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  remember  to  speak 
slow  ;  you  speak  through  your  nose  already." 

"I  only  hope  the  young  man  won't  be  at  home,"  sighed 
Pitman. 

"And  I  only  hope  he'll  be  alone,"  returned  the  lawyer. 
"It  will  save  a  precious  sight  of  manceuvring." 

And  sure  enough,  when  they  had  knocked  at  the  door, 
Gideon  admitted  them  in  person  to  a  room,  warmed  by  a 


122  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

modei'ate  fire,  framed  nearly  to  the  roof  in  works  con- 
nected with  the  bench  of  British  Themis,  and  offering, 
except  in  one  particular,  eloquent  testimony  to  the  legal 
zeal  of  the  proprietor.  The  one  particular  was  the 
chimney-piece,  which  displayed  a  varied  assortment  of 
pipes,  tobacco,  cigar-boxes,  and  yellow-backed  French 
novels. 

"  Mr.  Forsyth,  I  believe  ?  "  It  was  Michael  who  thus 
opened  the  engagement.  "  "We  have  come  to  trouble  you 
"with  a  piece  of  business.  I  fear  it's  scarcely  profes- 
sional  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  to  be  instructed  through  a 
solicitor,"  replied  Gideon. 

"  Well,  well,  you  shall  name  your  own,  and  the  whole 
affair  can  be  put  on  a  more  regular  footing  to-morrow," 
replied  Michael,  taking  a  chair  and  motioning  Pitman  to 
do  the  same.  "  But  you  see  we  didn't  know  any  solicitors ; 
we  did  happen  to  know  of  you,  and  time  presses." 

"  May  I  inquire,  gentlemen,"  asked  Gideon,  "  to  whom 
it  was  I  am  indebted  for  a  recommendation  ?  " 

"  You  may  inquire,"  returned  the  lawyer,  with  a  foolish 
laugh  ;  "  but  I  was  invited  not  to  tell  you — till  the  thing 
was  done." 

"  My  uncle,  no  doubt,"  was  the  barrister's  conclusion. 

"  My  name  is  John  Dickson,"  continued  Michael ;  "  a 
pretty  well-known  name  in  Ballarat ;  and  my  friend  here 
is  Mr.  Ezra  Thomas,  of  the  United  States  of  America,  a 
wealthy  manufacturer  of  India-rubber  overshoes." 


IN  wnicn  ancHAEL  finsburt  enjoys  a  holiday.  123 

"Stop  one  moment  till  I  make  a  note  of  that,"  said 
Gideon ;  anyone  might  have  supposed  he  was  an  old 
practitioner. 

"Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  my  smoking  a  cigar?" 
asked  IMichael.  He  had  pulled  himself  together  for  the 
entrance  ;  now  again  there  began  to  settle  on  his  mind 
clouds  of  irresponsible  humor  and  incipient  slumber ;  and 
he  hoped  (as  so  many  have  hoped  in  the  like  case)  that  a 
cigar  would  clear  him. 

"Oh,  certaiul}',"  cried  Gideon,  blandly.  "Try  one  of 
mine  ;  I  can  confidently  recommend  them."  And  he 
handed  the  box  to  his  client, 

"  In  case  I  don't  make  myself  perfectly  clear,"  obsei-ved 
the  Australian,  "  it's  perhaps  best  to  tell  you  candidly 
that  I've  been  lunching.  It's  a  thing  that  may  happen  to 
anyone." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  the  affable  barrister.  "  But 
please  be  under  no  sense  of  hurry.  I  can  give  you,"  he 
added,  thoughtfully  consulting  his  watch — "yes,  I  can 
give  you  the  whole  afternoon." 

"  The  business  that  brings  me  here,"  resumed  the  Aus- 
tralian with  gusto,  "  is  deviHsh  delicate,  I  can  tell  you. 
My  friend  'Mr.  Thomas,  being  an  American  of  Portuguese 
extraction,  unacquainted  with  our  habits,  and  a  wealthy 
manufacturer  of  Broadwood  pianos " 

"  Broadwood  pianos  ?  "  cried  Gideon,  with  some  sur- 
prise. "  Dear  me,  do  I  understand  Mr.  Thomas  to  be  a 
member  of  the  firm  ?  " 


124  THE    WKONO    BOX. 

"Oh,  pirated  Broaclwoods,"  returned  Michael.  "My 
friend's  the  American  Broadwood." 

"But  I  understood  ^'ou  to  say,"  objected  Gideon,  "I 
certainly  have  it  so  in  my  notes— that  your  friend  was  a 
manufacturer  of  India-rubber  overshoes." 

"  I  know  it's  confusing  at  first,"  said  the  Australian,  with 
a  beaming  smile.  "  But  he — in  short,  he  combines  the 
two  professions.  And  many  others  besides — many,  many, 
many  others,"  repeated  Mr.  Dickson,  with  drunken  solem- 
nity. "  Mr.  Thomas'  cotton-mills  are  one  of  the  sights 
of  Tallahassee  ;  Mr.  Thomas'  tobacco-mills  are  the  pride 
of  Richmond,  Va.  ;  in  short,  he's  one  of  my  oldest  friends, 
Mr.  Forsyth,  and  I  lay  his  case  before  you  with  emo- 
tion." 

The  barrister  looked  at  Mr.  Thomas  and  was  agreeably 
prepossessed  by  his  open  although  nervous  countenance, 
and  the  simplicity  and  timidity  of  his  manner.  "What  a 
people  are  these  Americans  !  "  he  thought.  "Look  at  this 
nervous,  weedy,  simple  little  bird  in  a  low-necked  shirt, 
and  think  of  him  wielding  and  directing  interests  so  ex- 
tended and  seemingly  incongruous !  But  had  we  not 
better,"  he  observed  aloud,  "  had  we  not  perhaps  better 
approach  the  facts  ?  " 

"  Man  of  business,  I  perceive,  sir!  "  said  the  Australian. 
*'  Let's  approach  the  facts.    It's  a  breach  of  promise  case." 

The  unhappy  artist  was  so  unprepared  for  this  view  of 
his  position  that  he  could  scarce  suppress  a  cry. 

"Dear   me,"  said   Gideon,  "they   are   apt   to    be  very 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBUET    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    125 

troublesome.  Tell  me  everytliing  about  it,"  he  added, 
kindly  ;  "if  jou  require  my  assistance,  conceal  noth- 
ing." 

"  You  tell  him,"  said  Michael,  feeling,  apparently,  that 
he  had  done  his  share.  "My  friend  will  tell  you  all  about 
it,"  he  added  to  Gideon,  with  a  yawn.  "Excuse  my  clos- 
ing my  eyes  a  moment ;  I've  been  sitting  up  with  a  sick 
friend." 

Pitman  gazed  blankly  about  the  room  ;  rage  and  de- 
spair seethed  in  his  innocent  spirit ;  thoughts  of  flight, 
thoughts  even  of  suicide,  came  and  went  before  him  ;  and 
still  the  barrister  patiently  waited,  and  still  the  artist 
groped  in  vain  for  any  form  of  words,  however  insigni- 
ficant. 

"It's  a  breach  of  promise  case,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I — I  am  threatened  with  a  breach  of  promise 
case."  Here,  in  desperate  quest  of  inspiration,  he  made  a 
clutch  at  his  beard  ;  his  fingers  closed  upon  the  un- 
familiar smoothness  of  a  shaven  chin  ;  and  with  that, 
hope  and  courage  (if  such  expressions  could  ever  have 
been  appropriate  in  the  case  of  Pitman)  conjointly  fled. 
He  shook  Michael  roughly.  "  Wake  up  !  "  he  cried,  with 
genuine  irritation  in  his  tones.  "  I  cannot  do  it,  and  you 
know  I  can't." 

"  You  must  excuse  my  friend,"  said  Michael ;  "he's  no 
hand  as  a  narrator  of  stirring  incident.  The  case  is 
simple,"  he  went  on.  "My  friend  is  a  man  of  very  strong 
passions,  and  accustomed  to  a  simple,  patriarchal  style  of 


126  THE    WRONO    BOX. 

life.  You  see  the  thing  from  here  :  unfortunate  visit  to 
Europe,  followed  bj''  unfortunate  acquaintance  with  sham 
foreign  count,  who  has  a  lovely  daughter.  Mr.  Thomas 
was  quite  carried  away  ;  he  proposed,  he  was  accepted, 
and  he  wrote — wrote  in  a  style  which  I  am  sure  he  must 
regret  to-day.  If  these  letters  are  produced  in  court,  sir, 
Mr.  Thomas's  character  is  gone." 

"Am  I  to  understand — "  began  Gideon. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  Australian,  emphatically,  "  it 
isn't  possible  to  understand  unless  you  saw  them." 

"That  is  a  painful  circumstance,"  said  Gideon  ;  be 
glanced  pit3'iugly  in  the  direction  of  the  culprit,  and  ob- 
serving on  his  countenance  every  mark  of  confusion,  pity- 
ingly withdrew  his  eyes. 

"And  that^  would  be  nothing,  "  continued  Mr.  Dickson, 
sternly,  "  but  I  wish — I  wish  from  my  heart,  sir,  I  could 
say  that  Mi-.  Thomas's  hands  were  clean.  He  has  no  ex- 
cuse ;  for  he  was  engaged  at  the  time — and  is  still  engaged 
— to  the  belle  of  Constantinople,  Ga.  My  friend's  con- 
duct was  unworthy  of  the  brutes  that  perish." 

"Ga?"  repeated  Gideon,  inquiringly. 

"A  contraction  in  current  use,  "  said  Michael.  "Ga 
for  Georgia,  in  the  same  way  as  Co  for  Company." 

"I  was  aware  it  was  sometimes  so  written,  "  returned 
the   barrister,  "  out  not  that  it  was  so  pronounced.  " 

"Fact,  I  assure  you,  "  said  Michael.  "You  now  see  for 
yoiu'self,  sir,  that  if  this  unhappy  person  is  to  be  saved, 
some   devilish   sharp  practice   will   be   needed.     There's 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBUKY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    127 

money,  and  no  desire  to  spare  it.  Mr.  Thomas  could 
■write  a  cheque  to-morrow  for  a  hundred  thousand.  And, 
Mr.  Forsyth,  there's  better  than  money.  The  foreign 
count — Count  Taruow,  he  calls  himself — Avas  formerly 
a  tobacconist  in  Bayswater,  and  passed  under  the  humble 
but  expressive  name  of  Schmidt ;  his  daughter — if  she  is 
his  daughter — there's  another  point — -make  a  note  of  that, 
Mr.  Forsyth — his  daughter  at  that  time  actually  served 
in  the  shoj) — and  she  now  proposes  to  marry  a  man  of  the 
emiiience  of  Mr.  Thomas  !  Now  do  you  see  our  game  ? 
We  know  they  contemplate  a  move  ;  and  we  wish  to  fore- 
stall 'em.  Down  you  go  to  Hampton  Court,  where  they 
live,  and  threaten,  or  bribe,  or  both,  until  3'ou  get  the  let- 
ters ;  if  you  can't,  God  help  us,  we  must  go  to  court  and 
Thomas  must  be  exposed.  I'll  be  done  with  him  for  one," 
added  the  unchivalrous  friend. 

"  There  seem  some  elements  of  success,"  said  Gideon. 
"  Was  Schmidt  at  all  known  to  the  police  ?  " 

"  We  hope  so,"  said  Michael.  "  We  have  every  ground 
to  think  so.  Mark  the  neighborhood — Bayswater !  doesn't 
Bayswater  occur  to  you  as  very  suggestive  ?  " 

For  perhaps  the  sixth  time  during  this  remarkable  in- 
terview, Gideon  wondered  if  he  were  not  becoming  light- 
headed. "  I  suppose  it's  just  because  he  has  been  lunch- 
ing," he  thought ;  and  then  added  aloud,  "  to  what  figure 
may  I  go  ?  " 

"Perhaps  five  thousand  would  be  enough  for  to-day," 
said  Michael.     "  And  now,  sir,  do  not  let  me  detain  you 


128  THE    WROXG    BOX. 

any  longer  ;  the  af  tex-noou  wears  on  ;  there  are  plenty  of 
trains  to  Hampton  Court ;  and  I  needn't  try  to  describe 
to  you  the  impatience  of  my  friend.  Here  is  a  five  pound 
note  for  cui-rent  expenses  ;  and  here  is  the  address."  And 
Michael  began  to  write,  paused,  tore  up  the  paper,  and  put 
the  pieces  in  his  pocket.  "  I  will  dictate,"  he  said,  "  my 
writing  is  so  uncertain." 

Gideon  took  down  the  address,  "  Count  Tarnow,  Kur- 
naul  Villa,  Hampton  Court."  Then  lie  wrote  something 
else  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  "You  said  you  had  not  chosen 
a  solicitor,"  he  said.  "  For  a  case  of  this  sort,  here  is  the 
best  man  in  London."  And  he  handed  the  paper  to 
Michael. 

"  God  bless  me  ! "  ejaculated  Michael,  as  he  read  his 
own  address. 

"  Oh,  I  dai'e  say  you  have  seen  his  name  connected  with 
some  rather  painful  cases,"  said  Gideon.  "  But  he  is  him- 
self a  perfectly  honest  man  and  his  capacity  is  recognized. 
And  now,  gentlemen,  it  only  remains  for  me  to  ask  where 
I  shall  communicate  with  you." 

"  The  Laugham,  of  course,"  returned  Michael.  "  Till 
to-night." 

"  Till  to-night,"  replied  Gideon,  smiling.  "  I  suppose 
I  may  knock  you  up  at  a  late  hour  ?  " 

"  Any  hour,  any  hour,"  cried  the  vanishing  solicitor. 

"Now  there's  a  young  fellow  with  a  head  upon  his 
shoulders,"  he  said  to  Pitman,  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the 
street. 


IN    AVniCH    MICHAEL    FINSBURY    EX.IOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    129 

Pitman  was  iudistiuctly  heard  to  murmur,  "  Perfect 
fool." 

"Not  a  bit  of  liim,"  returned  Michael.  "He  knows 
who's  the  best  solicitor  in  London,  and  it's  not  every  man 
can  say  the  same.     But,  I  say,  didn't  I  pitch  it  iu  hot  ?  " 

Pitman  returned  no  answer. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  the  lawyer,  pausing,  "  what's  wrong  with 
the  long-suffering  Pitman  ?" 

"You  had  no  i-ight  to  speak  of  me  as  you  did,"  the 
artist  broke  out ;  "  your  language  was  perfectly  unjustifi- 
able ;  you  have  wounded  me  deeply." 

"  I  never  said  a  word  about  you,"  replied  Michael.  "  I 
spoke  of  Ezra  Thomas  ;  and  do  please  remember  that 
there's  no  such  party." 

"It's  just  as  hard  to  bear,"  said  the  artist. 

But  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  b}'- 
street ;  and  there  was  the  faithful  shoeblack,  standing  by 
the  horses'  heads  with  a  splendid  assumption  of  dignity ; 
and  there  was  the  piano,  pricking  forlorn  upon  the  cart, 
while  the  rain  beat  upon  its  unprotected  sides  and  trickled 
down  its  elegantly  vai*nished  legs. 

The  shoeblack  was  again  put  iu  requisition  to  bring  five 
or  six  strong  fellows  from  the  neighboring  public-house  ; 
and  the  last  battle  of  the  campaign  opened.  It  is  prob- 
able that  Ml*.  Gideon  Forsyth  had  not  vet  taken  his  seat 
iu  the  train  for  Hampton  Court,  before  INIichael  ojjened 
the  door  of  the  chambers,  and  the  grunting  porters  de- 
posited the  Broadwood  grand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
9 


130  TUB    WRONG    BOX. 

"And  now,"  said  the  lawj^er,  after  lie  had  sent  the  men 
about  their  business,  "  one  more  precaution.  We  must 
leave  liim  the  key  of  the  piano,  and  wc  must  contrive 
that  he  shall  fiud  it.  Let  me  see."  And  he  built  a  square 
tower  of  cigars  upou  the  toj)  of  the  instrument,  and 
dropped  the  key  into  the  middle. 

"Poor  young  man,"  said  the  artist,  as  they  descended 
the  stairs. 

"He  is  in  a  devil  of  a  position,"  assented  Michael, 
dryly.     "It'll  brace  him  up." 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  observed  the  excellent  Pitman, 
"  that  I  fear  I  displayed  a  most  ungrateful  temper.  I  had 
no  right,  I  see,  to  resent  expressions,  wounding  as  they 
were,  which  were  in  no  sense  directed." 

"That's  all  right,"  cried  Michael,  getting  on  the  cart. 
"  Not  a  word  more,  Pitman.  Very  proper  feeling  on  your 
part ;  no  man  of  self-respect  can  stand  by  and  hear  his 
alias  insulted." 

The  rain  had  now  ceased,  Michael  was  fairly  sober,  the 
body  had  been  disposed  of,  and  the  friends  were  recon- 
ciled. Tiie  return  to  the  mews  was  therefore  (in  com- 
parison with  previous  stages  of  the  day's  adventures) 
quite  a  holiday  outing  ;  and  when  they  had  returned  the 
cart  and  walked  forth  again  from  the  stable-yard,  unchal- 
lenged and  even  unsuspected.  Pitman  drew  a  deep  breath 
of  joy. 

"And  now," he  said,  "we  can  go  home." 

"Pitman,"  said  the  lawyer,  stopping  short,  "your  reck- 


IN   WHICH    >nCHAEL   FINSBURY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    131 

lessness  fills  me  with  concern.  What !  we  have  been  wet 
through  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  you  propose,  in 
cold  blood,  to  go  home  !     No,  sir — hot  Scotch." 

And  taking  his  friend's  arm  he  led  him  sternly  toward 
the  nearest  public-house.  Nor  was  Pitman  (I  regret  to 
say)  wholly  unwiUing.  Now  that  peace  was  restored  and 
the  body  gone,  a  certain  innocent  skittishness  began  to 
appear  in  the  manners  of  the  artist ;  and  when  he  touched 
his  steaming  glass  to  Michael's,  he  giggled  aloud  like  a 
venturesome  school-girl  at  a  picnic. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  VlNSBURr's  HOLIBAY. 

I   know  Michael   Finsbury  personally ;  my  business — 
I  know  the  awkwardness  of  having  such  a  man  for  a  law- 
yer— still  it's  an  old  story  now,  and  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  gratitude,  and,  in  short,  my  legal  business,  although  now 
(I  am  thankful  to  say)  of  quite  a  placid  character,  remains 
entirely  in  Michael's  hands.     But  the  trouble  is  I  have  no 
natural  talent  for  addresses  ;  I  learn  one  for  every  man — 
that  is  friendship's  offering  ;  and  the  friend  who  subse- 
quently changes  his  residence  is  dead  to  me,  memory  re- 
fusing to  pursue  him.     Thus  it  comes  about  that,  as  I 
always  write  to  Michael  at  his  office,  I  cannot  swear  to  his 
number  in  the  King's  Road.      Of  course  (like  my  neigh- 
bors), I  have  been  to  dinner  there.    Of  late  years,  since  his 
accession  to  wealth,  neglect  of  business,  and  election  to  the 
club,  these  little  festivals  have  become  common.    He  picks 
up  a  few  fellows  in  the  smoking-room  — all  men  of  attic 
wit — myself,  for  instance,  if  he  has  the  luck  to  find  me  dis- 
engaged ;  a  string  of  hansoms  may  be  observed   (by  her 
Majesty)   bowling  gayly  through  St.  James's  Park  ;  and  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  party  surrounds  one  of  the  best 
appointed  boards  in  London. 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBUKy's    HOLIDAY.      13o 

But  at  the  time  of  which  we  write  the  house  in  the 
King's  EoaJ  (let  us  still  continue  to  call  it  No.  233) 
was  kept  very  quiet ;  when  Michael  entertained  guests  it 
was  at  the  halls  of  Nichol  or  Verrey  that  he  would  convene 
them,  and  the  door  of  his  private  residence  remained 
closed  against  his  friends.  The  upper  story,  which  was 
sunny,  was  set  apart  for  his  father  ;  the  drawing-room  was 
never  opened  ;  the  dining-room  was  the  scene  of  Michael's 
life.  It  is  in  this  pleasant  apartment,  sheltered  from  the 
curiosity  of  King's  Eoad  by  wire  blinds,  and  entirely  sur- 
rounded by  the  lawyer's  unrivalled  library  of  poetry  and 
criminal  trials,  that  we  find  him  sitting  down  to  his  dinner 
after  his  holiday  with  Pitman.  A  spare  old  lady,  with  very 
bright  eyes  and  a  mouth  humorously  compressed,  waited 
upon  the  lawyer's  needs  ;  in  every  line  of  her  countenance 
she  betrayed  the  fact  that  she  was  an  old  retainer  ;  in  every 
word  that  fell  from  her  lips  she  flaunted  the  glorious  cir- 
cumstance of  a  Scottish  origin  ;  and  the  fear  with  which 
this  powerful  combination  fills  the  boldest  was  obviously 
no  stranger  to  the  bosom  of  our  friend.  The  hot  Scotch 
having  somewhat  warmed  up  the  embers  of  the  Heidsieck, 
it  was  touching  to  observe  the  master's  eagerness  to  pull 
himself  together  under  the  servant's  eye  ;  and  when  he  re- 
marked :  "  I  think,  Teena,  I'll  take  a  brandy  and  soda," 
he  spoke  like  a  man  doubtful  of  his  elocution,  and  not  half 
certain  of  obedience. 

"  No  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Michael,"  was  the  prompt  re- 
tuz-n.     "  Clar't  and  water." 


131  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

"  Well,  well,  Teena,  I  daresay  you  know  best,"  said  the 
master.     "Very  fatiguing  day  at  the  office,  though." 

"What? "said  the  retainer,  "ye  never  were  near  the 
office  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  was  though  ;  I  was  repeatedly  along  Fleet 
Street,"  returned  IMichaeL 

"  Pretty  pliskies  ye've  been  at  this  day  !  "  cried  the  old 
lady,  with  humorous  alacrity  ;  and  then  :  "  Take  care — 
don't  break  my  crystal ! "  she  cried,  as  the  lawyer  came 
within  an  ace  of  knocking  the  glasses  oflf  the  table. 

"  And  how  is  he  keeping  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

"  Oh,  just  the  same,  Mr.  Michael,  just  the  way  he'll  be 
till  the  end,  worthy  man  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  But  ye'll  not 
be  the  first  that's  asked  me  that  the  day." 

"  No  ?  "  said  the  lawyer.     "  Who  else  ?  " 

"Ay,  that's  a  joke,  too,"  said  Teena,  grimly.  "  Afi'iend 
of  yours  :  Mr.  Morris." 

"Morris!  What  was  the  little  beggar  doing  here?" 
inquired  IMichael, 

"Wantin'?  To  see  him,"  replied  the  housekeeper, 
completing  her  meaning  by  a  movement  of  the  thumb 
toward  the  upper  story.  "  That's  by  his  way  of  it ;  but 
I've  an  idee  of  my  own.  He  tried  to  bribe  me,  Mr. 
Michael.  Bribe — me ! "  she  repeated,  with  inimitable 
scorn.     "  That's  no  kind  of  a  young  gentleman." 

"Did  he  so?"  said  Michael.  "I  bet  he  didn't  offer 
much." 

"  No  more  he  did,"  replied  Teena  ;  nor  could  any  sub< 


COXCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBURt's    HOLIDAY.      135 

sequent  questioning  elicit  from  her  the  sum  with  which 
the  thrifty  leather  merchant  had  attempted  to  corrupt 
her.  "But  I  sent  him  about  his  business,"  she  said,  gal- 
lantly.    "He'll  not  come  here  again  in  a  hurry." 

"  He  mustn't  see  my  father,  you  know  ;  mind  that ! " 
said  Michael.  "  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  pubHc  exhibi- 
tion to  a  little  beast  like  him." 

"  No  fear  of  me  lettin'  him,"  repHed  the  trusty  one. 
"  But  the  joke  is  this,  INIi-.  IMichael — see,  ye're  upsettin' 
the  sauce,  that's  a  clean  table-cloth — the  best  of  the  joke 
is  that  he  thinks  your  father's  dead  and  you're  keepin'  it 
dark." 

Michael  whistled.  "  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  said 
he. 

"  Exac'ly  what  I  told  him  !  "  cried  the  delighted  dame. 

"  I'll  make  him  dance  for  that,"  said  IVIichael. 

"  Couldn't  ye  get  the  law  of  him  some  way  ?  "  suggested 
Teena,  truculently. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  could,  and  I'm  quite  sure  I  don't 
want  to,"  replied  Michael.  "But  I  say,  Teena,  I  really 
don't  believe  this  claret's  wholesome  ;  it's  not  a  sound,  re- 
liable wine.  Give  us  a  brandy  and  soda,  there's  a  good 
soul."  Teena's  face  became  like  adamant.  "  Well,  then," 
said  the  lawyer,  fretfully,  "  I  won't  eat  any  more  dinner." 

"  Ye  can  please  yourself  about  that,  IVIr.  Michael,"  said 
Teena,  and  began  composedly  to  take  away. 

"  I  do  wish  Teena  wasn't  a  faithful  servant ! "  sighed 
the  lawyer,  as  he  issued  into  King's  Road. 


136  THIJ    WKONO    BOX. 

The  rain  had  ceased  ;  the  wind  still  blew,  but  only  with 
a  pleasant  freshness  ;  the  town,  in  the  clear  darkness  of 
the  night,  glittered  with  street-lamps  and  shone  with 
glancing  rain-pools.  "  Come,  this  is  better,"  thought  the 
lawyer  to  himself,  and  he  walked  on  eastward,  lending  a 
pleased  ear  to  the  wheels  and  the  million  footfalls  of  the 
city. 

Near  the  end  of  the  King's  Road  he  remembered  his 
brandy  and  soda,  and  entered  a  flaunting  public  house. 
A  good  many  persons  were  present,  a  waterman  from  a 
cab-stand,  half  a  dozen  of  the  chronically  unemployed,  a 
gentleman  (in  One  corner)  trying  to  sell  aesthetic  photo- 
graphs out  of  a  leather  case  to  another  and  very  youthful 
gentleman  with  a  yellow  goatee,  and  a  pair  of  lovers  de- 
bating some  fine  shade,  in  the  other.  But  the  centre- 
piece and  great  attraction  was  a  little  old  man,  in  a  black, 
ready-made  surtout,  which  was  obviously  a  recent  pur- 
chase. On  the  marble  table  in  front  of  him,  beside  a 
sandwich  and  a  glass  of  beer,  there  lay  a  battered  for- 
age cap.  His  hand  fluttered  abroad  with  oratorical  ges- 
tures ;  his  voice,  naturally  shrill,  was  plainly  tuned  to 
the  pitch  of  the  lecture-room  ;  and  by  arts,  comparable  to 
those  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  he  was  now  holding  spell- 
bound the  barmaid,  the  waterman,  and  four  of  the  unem- 
ployed. 

"  I  have  examined  all  the  theatres  in  Loudon,"  he  was 
saying  ;  "  and  pacing  the  principal  entrances,  I  have  as- 
certained them  to  be  ridiculously  disproportionate  to  the 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBUEy's   HOLIDAY.      137 

requirements  of  their  audiences.  The  doors  opened  the 
wrong  way — I  forget  at  this  moment  which  it  is,  but 
have  a  note  of  it  at  home  ;  they  were  frequently  locked 
during  the  performance,  and  when  the  auditorium  was 
literally  thronged  with  English  people.  You  have  prob- 
ably not  had  my  opportunities  of  comparing  distant 
lands ;  but  I  can  assure  j'ou  this  has  been  long  ago 
recognized  as  a  mark  of  aristocratic  government.  Do  you 
suppose,  in  a  country  really  self-governed,  such  abuses 
could  exist?  Your  own  intelligence,  however  unculti- 
vated, tells  you  they  could  not.  Take  Austria,  a  country 
even  possibly  more  enslaved  than  England.  I  have  my- 
self conversed  with  one  of  the  survivors  of  the  Ring 
Theatre,  and  though  his  colloquial  German  was  not  very 
good,  I  succeeded  in  gathering  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  his 
opinion  of  the  case.  But  what  will  perhaps  interest  you 
still  more,  here  is  a  cutting  on  the  subject  from  a  Vienna 
newspaper,  which  I  will  now  read  to  you,  translating  as  I 
go.  You  can  see  for  yourselves  ;  it  is  printed  in  the  Ger- 
man character."  And  he  held  the  cutting  out  for  verifica- 
tion, much  as  a  conjurer  passes  a  trick  orange  along  the 
front  bench. 

"  Hullo,  old  gentleman !   is  this  you  ?  "  said  Michael, 
laying  his  hand  upon  the  orator's  shoulder. 

The   figure    turned    with   a  convulsion  of   alarm,  and 
showed  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury. 

"  You,  Michael  ! "  he  cried.     •'  There's  no  one  with  you, 
is  there  ?  " 


138  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"No,"  replied  Michael,  ordering  a  brandy  and  soda, 
"  there's  nobody  ■with  inc  ;  whom  do  you  expect  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  Morris  or  John,"  said  tho  old  gentleman, 
evidently  greatly  relieved. 

"  What  the  devil  would  I  bo  doing  with  Morris  or 
John  '?  "  cried  the  nephew. 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  returned  Joseph.  "  And 
I  believe  I  can  trust  you.  I  believe  you  will  stand  by 
me." 

"  I  hardly  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  but 
if  you  are  in  need  of  money  I  am  flush." 

"It's  not  that,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  uncle,  shaking 
him  by  the  hand.     "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  afterward." 

"All  right,"  responded  the  nephew.  "I  stand  treat, 
Uncle  Joseph  ;  what  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "  I'll  take 
another  sandwich.  I  dare  say  I  surprise  you,"  he  went  on, 
"with  my  presence  in  a  public-house  ;  but  the  fact  is  I 
act  on  a  sound  but  little  known  principle  of  my  own " 

"  Oh,  it's  better  known  than  you  suppose,"  said  Michael, 
sipping  his  brandy  and  soda.  "  I  always  act  on  it  myself 
when  I  want  a  drink." 

The  old  gentleman,  who  was  anxious  to  propitiate 
Michael,  laughed  a  cheerless  laugh.  "You  liave  such  a 
flow  of  spirits,"  said  he,  "  I  am  sure  I  often  find  it 
quite  amusing.  But  regarding  this  principle  of  which  I 
was  about  to  speak.  It  is  that  of  accommodating  one's  self 
to  the  manners  of  any  land  (however  humble)  in  which 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBURy's    HOLIDAY.      139 

cur  lot  may  be  cast.  Now,  in  France,  for  instance,  every- 
one goes  to  a  cafe  for  bis  meals  ;  in  America  to  what  is 
called  a  '  two-bit  house  ; '  in  England  the  people  resort  to 
such  an  institution  as  the  present  for  refreshment.  With 
sandwiches,  tea,  and  an  occasional  glass  of  bitter  beer,  a 
man  can  live  luxuriously  in  London  for  fourteen  pounds 
twelve  shillings  per  annum." 

"Yes,  I  linow,"  returned  Michael,  "but  that's  not  in- 
cluding clothes,  washing,  or  boots.  The  whole  thing,  with 
cigars  and  occasional  sprees,  coats  me  over  seven  hundred 
a  year." 

But  this  was  Michael's  last  interruption.  He  listened 
in  good-humored  silence  to  the  remainder  of  his  uncle's 
lecture,  which  ■  speedily  branched  to  political  reform, 
thence  to  the  theory  of  the  weather-glass,  with  an  illus- 
trative account  of  a  bora  in  the  Adriatic  ;  thence  again  to 
the  best  manner  of  teaching  arithmetic  to  the  deaf-and- 
dumb  ;  and  with  that,  the  sandwich  being  then  no  more, 
explicuit  valde  feliciter.  A  moment  later  the  pair  issued 
forth  on  the  King's  Road. 

"Michael,"  said  his  uncle,  "the  reason  that  I  am  here 
is  because  I  cannot  endure  those  nephews  of  mine.  I  find 
them  intolerable." 

"I  dare  say  you  do,"  assented  Michael,  "I  never  could 
stand  them  for  a  moment." 

"  They  wouldn't  let  me  speak,"  continued  the  old  gentle- 
man, bitterly  ;  "  I  never  was  allowed  to  get  a  word  in 
edgewise  ;  I  was  shut  up  at  once  with  some  impertinent 


140  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

remark.  They  kept  me  on  short  allowance  of  pencils, 
when  I  wished  to  make  notes  of  the  most  absorbing  in- 
terest ;  the  clail}'  newspaper  was  guarded  from  me  like  a 
young  baby  from  a  gorilla.  Now,  you  know  me,  Michael. 
I  live  for  my  calculations  ;  I  live  for  my  manifold  and  ever- 
changing  views  of  life  ;  pens  and  j)aper  and  the  produc- 
tions of  the  popular  press  are  to  me  as  important  as  food 
and  drink ;  and  my  life  was  growing  quite  intolerable 
when,  in  the  confusion  of  that  fortunate  railway  accident 
at  Browndean,  I  made  my  escape.  They  must  think  me 
dead,  and  are  trying  to  deceive  the  world  for  the  chance 
of  the  tontine.'' 

"  By  the  way,  how  do  you  stand  for  money  ?  "  asked 
Michael,  kindly. 

"  Pecuniarily  speaking,  I  am  rich,"  retui-ned  the  old 
man,  with  cheerfulness.  "  I  am  living  at  present  at  the 
rate  of  one  hundred  a  year,  with  unlimited  pens  and  paper ; 
the  British  Museum  at  which  to  get  books  ;  and  all  the 
newsjDapers  I  choose  to  read.  But  it's  extraordinary  how 
little  a  man  of  intellectual  interest  requires  to  bother  with 
books  in  a  progressive  age.  The  newspapers  supply  all 
the  conclusions." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Michael,  "  come  and  stay  with 
me." 

"Michael,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "it's  very  kind  of 
you,  but  you  scarcely  understand  what  a  peculiar  position 
I  occupy.  There  are  some  little  financial  complications  ; 
as  a  guardian  my  efifbrts  were  not  altogether  blessed  ;  and 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBURY's    HOLIDAY.      141 

not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  the  matter,  I  am  abso- 
lutely in  the  power  of  that  vile  fellow,  Morris." 

"You  should  be  disguised,"  cried  Michael,  eagerly.  "I 
will  lend  you  a  pair  of  window-glass  sjDectacles,  and  some 
red  side- whiskers." 

"  I  had  already  canvassed  that  idea,"  replied  the  old 
gentleman,  "  but  feared  to  awaken  remai'k  in  my  unpre- 
tentious lodgings.     The  aristocracy,  I  am  well  aware " 

"But  see  here,"  interrupted  Michael,  "how  do  you 
come  to  have  any  money  at  all  ?  Don't  make  a  stranger 
of  me,  Uncle  Joseph  ;  I  know  all  about  the  trust,  and  the 
hash  you  made  of  it,  and  the  assignment  you  were  forced 
to  make  to  Morris." 

Joseph  narrated  his  dealings  with  the  bank. 

"Oh,  but  I  say,  this  won't  do,"  cried  the  lawyer. 
"You've  put  your  foot  in  it.  You  had  no  right  to  do 
what  you  did." 

"  The  whole  thing  is  mine,  Michael,"  protested  the  old 
gentleman.  "I  founded  and  niu'sed  that  business  on 
principles  entirely  of  my  own." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,"  said  the  lavrj-er  ;  "  but  you  made 
an  assignment,  you  were  forced  to  make  it,  too  ;  even 
then  your  position  was  extremely  shaky  ;  but  now,  my 
dear  sir,  it  means  the  dock." 

"It  isn't  possible,"  cried  Joseph  ;  "  the  law  cannot  be 
so  unjust  as  that?" 

"  And  the  cream  of  the  thing,"  interrupted  Michael, 
with  a  sudden  shout  of  laughter,  "  the  cream  of  the  thing 


142  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

is  this,  that  of  course  you've  downed  the  leather  business ! 
I  must  say,  Uncle  Joseph,  you  have  strange  ideas  of  law, 
but  I  like  your  taste  in  humor." 

"  I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  observed  Mr.  Finsbury, 
tartly. 

"  And  talking  of  that,  has  Morris  any  power  to  sign  for 
the  firm  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

"No  one  but  myself,"  replied  Joseph. 

"Poor  devil  of  a  Morris.  Oh,  poor  devil  of  a  Morris !  " 
cried  the  lawyer  in  delight.  "And  his  keeping  up  the 
farce  that  you're  at  home  !  "  Oh,  Moms,  the  Lord  has  de- 
livered you  into  my  hands !  Let  me  see,  Uncle  Joseph, 
what  do  you  suppose  the  leather  business  worth  ?  " 

"It  was  worth  a  hundred  thousand,"  said  Joseph,  bit- 
terly, "  when  it  was  in  my  hands.  But  then  there  came 
a  Scotchman — it  is  supposed  he  had  a  certain  talent — it 
was  entirely  directed  to  book-keeping — no  accountant  in 
London  could  understand  a  word  of  any  of  his  books ; 
and  then  there  was  Morris,  who  is  perfectly  incompetent. 
And  now  it  is  worth  very  little.  Morris  tried  to  sell  it 
last  year ;  and  Pogram  &  Jarris  offered  only  four  thou- 
sand." 

"I  shall  turn  my  attention  to  leather,"  said  Michael 
with  decision. 

"  You ?"  asked  Joseph.  "I  advise  you  not.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  whole  field  of  commerce  more  suiprising 
than  the  fluctuations  of  the  leather  market.  Its  sensitive- 
ness may  be  described  as  morbid." 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBUEy's    HOLIDAY.      143 

"  And  now,  Uncle  Joseph,  what  have  you  done  with  all 
that  money  !  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Paid  it  into  a  bank  and  drew  twenty  pounds,"  an- 
swered 'Mi:  Finsbury  promptly.     "  Why  ?  " 

"Very  well,"  said  Michael.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  send 
down  a  clerk  with  a  cheque  for  a  hundred,  and  he'll  draw 
out  the  original  sum  and  return  it  to  the  Auglo-Pata- 
gonian,  with  some  sort  of  explanation  which  I  will  try  to 
invent  for  you.  That  will  clear  your  feet,  and  as  MoitIs 
can't  touch  a  penny  of  it  without  forgery,  it  will  do  no 
harm  to  my  little  scheme." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Joseph,  "  I  cannot  hve 
upon  nothing." 

"  Don't  you. hear  ?  "  returned  Michael.  "  I  send  you  a 
cheque  for  a  hundred  ;  which  leaves  you  eighty  to  go  along 
upon  ;  and  when  that's  done,  apply  to  me  again." 

"  I  would  rather  not  be  beholden  to  your  bounty  all 
the  same,"  said  Joseph,  bitiug  at  his  white  moustache. 
"  I  would  rather  live  on  my  own  money,  suice  I  have  it." 

INIichael  grasped  his  arm.  "Will  nothing  make  you 
believe,"  he  cried,  "  that  I  am  trying  to  save  you  from 
Dartmoor  ?  " 

His  earnestness  staggered  the  old  man.  "I  must  turn 
my  attention  to  law,"  he  said  ;  "  it  will  be  a  new  field  ; 
for  though  of  course  I  understand  its  general  principles, 
I  have  never  really  applied  my  mind  to  the  details,  and 
this  view  of  yours,  for  example,  comes  on  me  entirely  by 
surprise.     But  you  may  be  right,  and   of  course  at  my 


144  THK    WROXG    BOX. 

time  of  life — for  I  am  uo  longer  young — any  really  long 
term  of  imprisonment  would  be  liigbly  prejudicial.  But, 
my  dear  nephew,  I  Lave  no  claim  on  you  ;  you  have  no 
call  to  support  me." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Michael;  "  I'll  probably  get  it 
out  of  the  leather  business." 

And  having  taken  down  the  old  gentleman's  address, 
Michael  left  him  at  the  corner  of  a  street. 

"  What  a  wonderful  old  muddler  !  "  he  reflected,  "and 
what  a  singular  thing  is  life  !  I  seem  to  be  condemned 
to  be  the  instrument  of  Providence.  Let  me  see  ;  what 
have  I  done  to-day?  Disposed  of  a  dead  body,  saved 
Pitman,  saved  my  Uncle  Joseph,  biightened  up  Forsyth, 
and  drunk  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  most  indifferent  liquor. 
Let's  top  off  with  a  visit  to  my  cousins,  and  be  the  instru- 
ment of  Providence  in  earnest.  To-morrow  I  can  turn 
my  attention  to  leather  ;  to-night,  I'll  just  make  it  lively 
for  'em  in  a  friendly  spirit." 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  as  the  clocks  were 
striking  eleven,  the  instrument  of  providence  descended 
from  a  hansom,  and  bidding  the  driver  wait,  rapped  at 
the  door  of  No.  16  John  Street. 

It  was  promptly  opened  by  Morris, 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Michael,"  he  said,  carefully  blocking  up 
the  narrow  opening  :  "it's  very  late." 

Michael  without  a  word  reached  forth,  grasped  Morris 
warmly  by  the  hand,  and  gave  it  so  extreme  a  squeeze 
that  the  sullen  householder  fell  back.     Profiting  by  this 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBURY's    HOLIDAY.      145 

movement,  the  lawyer  obtained  a  footing  in  the  lobby 
and  marched  into  the  dining-room,  with  Morris  at  his 
heels. 

"  Where's  my  Uncle  Joseph  ?  "  demanded  Michael,  sit- 
tin"-  down  in  the  most  comfortable  chair. 

"He's not  been  very  well  lately,"  replied  Morris;  "he's 
staying  at  Browndean  ;  John  is  nursing  him  ;  and  I  am 
alone,  as  you  see." 

Michael  smiled  to  himself.  "  I  want  to  see  him  on 
particular  business,"'  he  said. 

"You  can't  expect  to  see  my  uncle,  when  you  won't  let 
me  see  your  father,"'  returned  Morris. 

"  Fiddlestick,"  said  Michael.  "  My  father  is  my  father  ; 
but  Joseph  is  just  as  much  my  uncle  as  he's  yours  ;  and 
you  have  no  right  to  sequestrate  his  person." 

"I  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Morris,  doggedly.  "He  is 
not  well ;  he  is  dangerously  ill  and  nobody  can  see  him." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  then,"  said  Michael.  "I'll  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  I  have  come  down  like  the  opossum, 
Morris  ;  I  have  come  to  compromise." 

Poor  Morris  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  then  a  flush 
of  wrath  against  the  injustice  of  man's  destiny  dyed  his 
very  temples.  ""What  do  you  mean,"  he  cried,  "I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it ! "  And  when  Michael  had  assured 
him  of  his  seriousness,  ""Well,  then,"  he  cried,  with  an- 
other deep  flush,  "I  won't  ;  so  you  can  put  that  in  your 
pipe  and  smoke  it." 

"  Oho  !  "  said  Michael,  queerly.     "  You  say  your  uncle 
10 


146  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

is  dangerously  ill,  and  you  won't  compromise?  There''; 
something  very  fishy  about  that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Morris,  hoarsely. 

"I  only  say  it's  fishy,"  returned  Michael,  "that  is,  per- 
taining to  the  finny  tribe." 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  anything?"  cried  Morris, 
stormily,  trying  the  high  hand. 

"  Insinuate?  "  repeated  Michael.  "  Oh,  don't  let's  begin 
to  use  awkward  expressions  !  Let  us  drown  our  differ- 
ences in  a  bottle,  like  two  affiible  kinsmen.  The  Two  Af- 
fable Kinsmen,  sometimes  attributed  to  Shakespeare,"  he 
added. 

Morris'  mind  was  laboring  like  a  mill.  "  Does  be  sus- 
pect ?  or  is  this  chance  and  stuff?  Shoulil  I  soap,  or 
should  I  bully?  Soap,"  he  concluded.  "It  gains  time. 
Well,"  said  he  aloud,  and  with  rather  a  painful  affectation 
of  heartiness,  "  it's  long  since  we  have  had  an  evening  to- 
gether, Michael ;  and  though  my  habits  (as  you  know) 
are  very  temjDci-ate,  I  may  as  well  make  an  exception. 
Excuse  me  one  moment,  till  I  fetch  a  bottle  of  whiskey 
from  the  cellar." 

"No  whiskey  for  me,"  said  Michael ;  "  a  little  of  the  old 
still  champagne  or  nothing." 

For  a  moment  Morris  stood  irresolute,  for  the  wine  was 
very  valuable  ;  the  next  he  had  quitted  the  room  without 
a  word.  His  quick  mind  had  perceived  his  advantage  ; 
in  thus  dunning  him  for  the  cream  of  the  cellar,  Michael 
was  playing  into  his  hand.     "One  bottle?"  he  thought 


CONCLUSION    OF    MICHAEL   FINSBURy's    HOLIDAY.      147 

"  By  George,  I'll  give  him  two !  tins  is  no  moment  for 
economy ;  and  once  the  beast  is  drunk,  it's  strange  if  I 
don't  wring  his  secret  out  of  him." 

^Yith  two  bottles,  accordingly,  he  returned.  Glasses 
were  produced,  and  Morris  filled  them  with  hospitable 
grace. 

"I  drink  to  you,  cousin  !"  he  cried,  gayly.  "Don't 
spare  the  wine-cup  in  my  house." 

IViichael  drank  his  glass  deliberately,  standing  at  the 
table  ;  filled  it  again,  and  returned  to  his  chair,  carrying 
the  bottle  along  with  him. 

•'The  spoils  of  war!"  he  said,  apologetically.  "The 
weakest  goes  to  the  wall.  Science,  Morris,  science." 
Morris  could  think  of  no  reply,  and  for  an  appreciable  in- 
terval silence  reigned.  But  two  glasses  of  the  still  cham- 
pagne produced  a  rapid  change  in  Michael. 

"  There's  a  want  of  vivacity  about  you,  Morris,"  he  ob- 
served. "You  may  be  deep  ;  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  you're 
vivacious  ! " 

"What  makes  you  think  me  deep  ?  "  asked  Moms,  with 
an  air  of  pleased  simplicity. 

"  Because  you  won't  compromise,"  said  the  law^'er. 
"  You're  deep  dog,  Morris,  very  deep  dog,  not  t'  com- 
promise— remarkable  deep  dog.  And  a  very  good  glass 
of  wine  ;  it's  the  only  respectable  feature  in  the  Finsbury 
family,  this  wine  ;  rarer  thing  than  a  title — much  rarer. 
Now,  a  man  with  glass  wine  like  this  in  cellar,  I  wonder 
why  won't  compromise  ?  " 


148  THK    WRONG    BOX. 

"  Well,  yon  wouldn'  compromise  before,  you  know," 
said  the  smiling  Morris.     "  Tui'u  about  is  fair  play." 

"  I  wonder  why  /  wouldn'  compromise  ?  I  wonder  why 
you  wouldn'  ?  "  inquired  Michael.  "  I  wonder  why  we 
each  think  the  other  wouldn'?  'S  quite  a  remarrable — 
remarkable  problem,"  he  added,  triumphing  over  oral 
obstacles,  not  without  obvious  pride.  "  Wonder  what  we 
each  think  —don't  3'ou  ?  " 

"What  do  you  suppose  to  have  been  my  reason?" 
asked  Morris,  adroitly. 

Michael  looked  at  him  and  winked.  "  Tha's  cool,"  said 
he,  "  Next  thing,  you'll  ask  me  to  help  you  out  of  the 
muddle.  I  know  I'm  emissai*y  of  Providence,  but  not  that 
kind !  You  get  out  of  it  yourself,  like  ^sop  and  the  other 
fellow.  Must  be  dreadful  muddle  for  young  orphan  o' 
forty  ;  leather  business  and  all ! " 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  MoiTis. 

"Not  sure  I  know  myself,"  said  Michael.  "This  is 
exc'lent  vintage,  sir — exc'lent  vintage.  Nothing  against 
the  tipple.  Only  thing  ;  here's  a  valuable  uncle  disap- 
peared. Now,  what  I  want  to  know  :  where's  valuable 
uncle?" 

"I  have  told  you :  he  is  at  Browndean,"  answered  Mor- 
ris, furtively  wiping  his  brow,  for  these  repeated  hints 
began  to  tell  upon  him  cruelly. 

"Very  easy  say  Brown— Browndee — no'  so  easy  after 
all!"  cried  Michael.  "Easy  say;  anything's  easy  say, 
when  you  can  say  it.     What  I  don'  like's  total  disappear- 


CONCLrSION    OF    MICHAEL    FINSBURy''s    HOLIDA-J        149 

ance  of  an  uncle.  Not  business-like,"  And  he  wagged 
his  head. 

"It  is  all  perfectly  simple,"  retui'ned  Moi'ris,  with  la- 
borious calm.  "There  is  no  mystery.  He  stays  at 
Browndean,  where  he  got  a  shake  in  the  accident." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Michael,  "  got  devil  of  a  shake ?  " 

"  "Why  do  you  say  that  ?"  cried  Morris,  sharply. 

"  Best  possible  authority.  Told  me  so  yourself,"  said 
the  lawyer.  "  But  if  you  tell  me  contrary  now,  of  course 
I'm  bound  to  believe  either  the  one  story  or  the  other. 
Point  is — I've  upset  this  bottle,  still  champagne's  esc'lent 
thing  carpet — point  is,  is  valuable  uncle  dead — an" — 
bury  ?  " 

Morris  sprang  from  his  seat.  "  What's  that  you  say  ?  " 
he  gasped. 

"I  say  it's  exc'lent  thing  carpet,"  replied  Michael,  rising. 
"  Esc'lent  thing  promote  healthy  action  of  the  skin. 
Well,  it's  all  one,  anyway.  Give  my  love  to  Uncle  Cham- 
pagne." 

"  You're  not  going  away  ?  "  said  Morris. 

"Awf'ly  sorry,  ole  man.  Got  to  sit  up  sick  friend," 
said  the  wavering  Michael. 

"You  shall  not  go  till  you  have  explained  your  hints," 
returned  j\Iorris,  fiercely.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  What 
brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  No  offence,  I  trust,"  said  the  lawyer,  tui-ning  round  as 
he  opened  the  door ;  "  only  doing  my  duty  as  shemishery 
of  Providence." 


150  THE    WKOKG    BOX. 

Groping  his  way  to  the  front-door,  he  opened  it  with 
some  diflfioulty,  and  descended  the  steps  to  the  hansom. 
The  tired  driver  looked  up  as  he  approached,  and  asked 
where  he  was  to  go  next. 

Michael  observed  that  Morris  had  followed  him  to  the 
steps  ;  a  brilliant  inspiration  came  to  him.  "  Anything  t' 
give  pain,"  he  reflected.  .  .  .  "  Drive  Shcotlan' Yard," 
he  added  aloud,  holding  to  the  wheel  to  steady  himself  ; 
"there's  something  devilish  fishv,  cabbv,  about  those 
cousins.     Mush'  be  cleared  up  !     Drive  Shcotlan'  Yard." 

"You  don't  mean  that,  sir,"  said  the  man,  with  the  ready 
sympatliy  of  the  lower  orders  for  an  intoxicated  gentle- 
man. "I  had  better  take  you  home,  sir  ;  you  can  go  to 
Scotland  Yard  to-morrow." 

"  Is  it  as  friend  or  as  perfessional  man  you  advise  me 
not  to  go  Shcotlan'  Yard  t'night?"  inquired  Michael. 
"All  righ',  never  min'  Shcotlan'  Yard,  drive  Gaiety  bar." 

"  The  Gaiety  bar  is  closed,"  said  the  man. 

"  Then  home,"  said  Michael,  with  the  same  cheerful- 
ness. 

"Whereto,  sir?" 

"  I  don't  remember,  I'm  sure,"  said  Michael,  entering 
the  vehicle,  "drive  Shcotlan'  Yard  and  ask." 

"But  you'll  have  a  card,"  said  the  man,  through  the 
little  aperture  in  the  top,  "  give  me  your  card-case." 

"What  imagi — imagination  in  a  cabby!"  cried  the 
lawyer,  producing  his  card-case,  and  handing  it  to  the 
driver. 


IN    WHICH    MICHAEL    FINSBUKY    ENJOYS    A    HOLIDAY.    151 

The  man  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  lamp.  "Mr.  Mi- 
chael Finsbury,  233  King's  Eoad,  Chelsea.  Is  that  it, 
sir?" 

"  Eight  you  are,"  cried  Michael,  "  drive  there  if  you 
can  see  way," 


CHAPTER  X. 

GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE   BROADWOOD    GRAND. 

The  reader  has  perhaps  read  that  remarkable  work, 
Who  imt  back  the  clock  ?  by  E.  H.  B.,  which  appeared  for 
several  days  upon  the  railway  bookstalls  and  then  vanished 
entirely  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Whether  eating 
Time  makes  the  chief  of  his  diet  out  of  old  editions ; 
■whether  Providence  has  passed  a  special  enactment  on  be- 
half of  authors  ;  or  whether  these  last  have  taken  the  law 
into  their  own  hand,  bound  themselves  into  a  dark  con- 
spiracy with  a  password,  which  I  would  die  rather  than 
reveal,  and  night  after  night  sally  forth  under  some  %ag- 
orous  leader,  such  as  Mr.  James  Payn  or  Mr.  Walter  Be- 
sant,  on  their  task  of  secret  spoHation — certain  it  is,  at 
least,  that  the  old  editions  pass,  giving  place  to  new.  To 
the  proof,  it  is  believed  there  are  now  only  three  copies 
extant  of  Who  put  hack  the  clock  ?  one  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum, successfully  concealed  by  a  wrong  entry  in  the 
catalogue  ;  another  in  one  of  the  cellars  (the  cellar  where 
the  music  accumulates)  of  the  Advocates'  Library  at  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  a  third,  bound  in  Morocco,  in  the  possession 
of  Gideon  Forsyth.  To  account  for  the  very  different  fate 
attending  this  third  exemplar,  the  readiest  theory  is  to 


GIDKON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    BROADWOOn    GRAXD.    153 

suppose  that  Gideon  admired  the  tale.  How  to  explain 
that  admiration  might  appear  (to  those  who  have  perused 
the  work)  more  difficult  ;  but  the  weakness  of  a  parent  is 
extreme,  and  Gideon  (and  not  his  uncle,  whose  initials 
he  had  humorously  borrowed)  was  the  author  of  Who  i^ut 
hack  the  clock  f  He  had  never  acknowledged  it,  or  only 
to  some  intimate  friends  while  it  was  still  in  proof  ;  after 
its  appearance  and  alarming  failiire,  the  modesty  of  the 
novelist  had  become  more  pressing,  and  the  secret  was 
now  likely  to  be  better  kept  than  that  of  the  authorship 
of  Waverley. 

A  copy  of  the  work  (for  the  date  of  my  tale  is  already 
yesterday)  still  figured  in  dusty  solitude  in  the  bookstall 
at  Waterloo  ;  and  Gideon,  as  he  passed  with  his  ticket 
for  Hampton  Court,  smiled  contemptuously  at  the  crea- 
ture of  his  thoughts.  "What  an  idle  ambition  was  the 
author's  !  How  far  beneath  him  was  the  practice  of  that 
childish  art !  "With  his  hand  closing  on  his  first  brief, 
he  felt  himself  a  man  at  last ;  and  the  muse  who  presides 
over  the  police  romance,  a  lady  presumably  of  French  ex- 
ti-action,  fled  his  neighborhood,  and  returned  to  join 
the  dance  round  the  springs  of  Helicon,  among  her 
Grecian  sisters. 

Robust,  practical  reflection  still  cheered  the  young  bar- 
rister upon  his  journey.  Again  and  again  he  selected  the 
little  country  house  in  its  islet  of  great  oaks,  which  he  was 
to  make  his  future  home.  Like  a  prudent  householder, 
he  projected  improvements  as  he  passed  ;  to  one  he  added 


154  THE    WRONG    UOX. 

a  stable,  to  another  a  tennis  court,  a  tliird  lie  supplied 
with  a  becoming,  rustic  boat-house. 

•'  How  little  a  while  ago,"  he  could  not  but  reflect,  "  I 
was  a  careless  young  dog  with  no  thought  but  to  be  com- 
fortable !  I  cared  for  nothing  but  boating  and  detective 
novels.  I  would  have  passed  an  old-fashioned  country 
house  with  large  kitchen-garden,  stabling,  boat-house,  and 
spacious  offices,  without  so  much  as  a  look,  and  certainly 
would  have  made  no  inqviiry  as  to  the  drains.  How  a 
man  ripens  with  the  years !  " 

The  intelligent  reader  will  perceive  the  ravages  of  Miss 
Hazeltine.  Gideon  had  carried  Julia  straight  to  Mr. 
Bloomfield's  house  ;  and  that  gentleman,  having  been  led 
to  understand  she  was  the  victim  of  oppression,  had  noisily 
espoused  her  cause.  He  worked  himself  into  a  fine  breath- 
ing heat ;  in  which,  to  a  man  of  his  temperament,  action 
became  needful. 

"I  do  not  know  which  is  the  worse,"  he  cried,  "the 
fraudulent  old  villain  or  the  unmanly  young  cub.  I  will 
write  to  the  Pall  Mall  and  expose  them.  Nonsense,  sir  ; 
they  must  be  exposed  !  It's  a  public  duty.  Did  you  not 
tell  me  the  fellow  was  a  tory  ?  Oh,  the  uncle  is  a  radical 
lecturer,  is  he?  No  doubt,  the  uncle  has  been  grossly 
wronged.  But  of  course,  as  you  say,  that  makes  a  change  ; 
it  becomes  scarce  so  much  a  public  duty." 

And  he  sought  and  instantly  found  a  fresh  outlet  for 
his  alacrity.  Miss  Hazeltine  (he  now  perceived)  must  be 
kept  out  of  the  way ;  his  houseboat  was   lying  ready — he 


tilDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    BROADWOOD    GRAND.    155 

had  returned  but  a  day  or  two  before  from  liis  usual 
cruise ;  there  was  no  place  like  a  houseboat  for  conceal- 
ment ;  and  that  very  morning,  in  the  teeth  of  the  easterly 
gale,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bloomfield  and  Miss  Julia  Hazeltine 
had  started  forth  on  their  untimely  voyage,  Gideon  pled 
in  vain  to  be  allowed  to  join  the  party.  "  No,  Gid,"  said 
liis  uncle.  "You  will  be  watched  ;  you  must  keep  away 
from  us."  Nor  had  the  barrister  ventured  to  contest  this 
strange  illusion  ;  for  he  feared  if  he  rubbed  off  any  of  the 
romance,  that  Mr.  Bloomfield  might  weary  of  the  whole 
affair.  And  his  discretion  w^as  rewarded  ;  for  the  Squir- 
radical,  laying  a  heavy  hand  upon  his  nephew's  shoulder, 
had  added  these  notable  expressions  :  "I  see  what  you  are 
after,  Gid.  But  if  you're  going  to  get  the  girl,  you  have 
to  work,  sir." 

These  pleasing  sounds  had  cheered  the  barrister  all  day, 
as  he  sat  reading  in  chambers  ;  they  continued  to  form 
the  ground-base  of  his  manly  musings  as  he  was  whirled 
to  Hampton  Court ;  even  when  he  landed  at  the  station, 
and  began  to  pull  himself  together  for  his  delicate  inter- 
view, the  voice  of  Uncle  Ned  and  the  eyes  of  Julia  were 
not  forgotten. 

But  now  it  began  to  rain  surprises :  in  all  Hampton 
Court,  there  was  no  Kurnaul  Villa,  no  Count  Tarnow,  and 
no  count.  This  was  strange  ;  but  viewed  in  the  light  of 
the  incoherency  of  his  instructions,  not  perhaps  inexplic- 
able ;  Mr.  Dickson  had  been  lunching,  and  he  might  have 
made  some  fatal  oversiprht  in  the  addi-ess.     What  was  the 


15G  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

tborouglily  prompt,  manly,  and  business-like  step  ?  thought 
Gideon  ;  and  he  answered  himself  at  once:  "A  telegram, 
very  laconic."  Speedily,  the  wires  were  flashing  the  fol- 
lowing very  important  missive :  "Dickson,  Langliam  Hotel. 
Villa  and  persons  both  unknown  here,  suppose  erroneous 
address  ;  follow  self  next  train.  Forsyth."  iVnd  at  the 
Langham  Hotel,  sure  enough,  with  a  brow  expressive  of 
despatch  and  intellectual  effort,  Gideon  descended  not 
long  after  from  a  smoking  hansom. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  Gideon  will  ever  forget  the  Lang- 
ham  Hotel.  No  Count  Tarnow  was  one  thing ;  no  John 
Dickson  and  no'  Ezra  Thomas,  quite  another.  How,  why, 
and  what  next,  danced  in  his  bewildered  brain  ;  from 
every  centre  of  what  we  playfully  call  the  human  intellect, 
incongruous  messages  were  telegraphed ;  and  before  the 
hubbub  of  dismay  had  quite  subsided,  the  barrister  found 
himself  driving  furiously  for  his  chambers.  There  was  at 
least  a  cave  of  refuge  ;  it  was  at  least  a  place  to  think  in  ; 
and  he  climbed  the  stair,  put  his  key  in  the  lock  and 
opened  the  door,  with  some  approach  to  hope. 

It  was  all  dark  within,  for  the  night  had  some  time 
fallen  ;  but  Gideon  knew  his  room,  he  knew  Avhere  the 
matches  stood  on  the  end  of  the  chimney  piece  ;  and  he 
advanced  boldly,  and  in  so  doing  dashed  himself  against 
a  heavy  body,  where  (slightly  altering  the  expressions  of 
the  song)  no  heavy  body  should  have  been.  There  had 
been  nothing  there  when  Gideon  went  out,  he  had  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  he  had  found  it  locked  on  his  re« 


GIDEON    FOESTrH    AND    THE    BROA.DWOOD    GRAND.    157 

turn,  BO  one  could  have  entered,  the  furniture  could  not 
have  changed  its  own  position.  And  yet  undeniably  there 
was  a  something  there.  He  thrust  out  his  hands  in  the 
darkness.  Yes,  there  was  something,  something  large, 
something  smooth,  something  cold. 

"Heaven  forgive  me!  "said  Gideon,  "it  feels  like  a 
piano." 

And  the  next  moment  he  remembered  the  vestas  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket  and  had  struck  a  light. 

It  was  indeed  a  piano  that  met  his  doubtful  gaze  ;  a 
vast  and  costly  instrument,  stained  with  the  rains  of  the 
afternoon  and  defaced  with  recent  scratches.  The  light 
of  the  vesta  was  reflected  from  the  varnished  sides,  like  a 
star  in  quiet  water  ;  and  in  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 
the  shadow  of  that  strange  visitor  loomed  bulkily  and 
wavered  on  the  wall. 

Gideon  let  the  match  burn  to  his  fingers,  and  the  dark- 
ness close  once  more  on  his  bewilderment.  Then  with 
trembling  hands  he  lit  the  lamp  and  drew  near.  Near  or 
far,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact  :  the  thing  was  a  piano. 
There,  where  by  all  the  laws  of  God  and  man  it  was  im- 
possible that  it  should  be — there  the  thing  impudently 
stood.  Gideon  threw  open  the  keyboard  and  struck  a 
chord.  Not  a  sound  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  room. 
"  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  me  ?  "  he  thought,  with  a 
pang ;  and  drawing  in  a  seat,  obstinately  persisted  in  his 
attempts  to  ravish  silence,  now  with  sparkling  ari:)eggios, 
now  with  a  sonata  of  Beethoven's  which  (in  happier  days) 


158  THE    >VRONG    BOX. 

he  knew  to  be  one  of  the  loudest  pieces  of  that  powerful 
composer.  Still  not  a  sound.  He  gave  the  Broadwood 
two  great  bangs  with  his  clenched  fists.  All  was  still  as 
the  grave. 

The  young  barrister  started  to  his  feet. 

"  I  am  stark-staring  mad,"  he  cried  aloud,  "  and  no  one 
knows  it  but  myself.  God's  worst  curse  has  fallen  on 
me." 

His  fingers  encountered  his  watch-chain  ;  instantly  he 
had  plucked  forth  his  watch  and  held  it  to  his  ear.  He 
could  hear  it  ticking. 

" I  am  not  deaf ,"  he  said  aloud.  "I  am  only  insane. 
My  mind  has  quitted  me  forever." 

He  looked  uneasily  about  the  room,  and  gazed  with 
lack-lustre  eyes  at  the  chair  in  which  Mr.  Dickson  had 
installed  himself.  The  end  of  a  cigar  lay  near  it  on  the 
fender. 

"No,"  he  thought,  "I  don't  believe  that  was  a  dream  ; 
but  God  knows  my  mind  is  failing  rapidly.  I  seem  to  be 
hungry,  for  instance  ;  it's  probably  another  hallucination. 
Still  I  might  try.  I  shall  have  one  more  good  meal ;  I 
shall  go  to  the  Cafe  Royal,  and  may  possibly  be  removed 
from  there  direct  to  the  asylum." 

He  wondered  with  morbid  interest,  as  he  descended 
the  stairs,  how  he  would  first  betray  his  terrible  condi- 
tion— would  he  attack  a  waiter  ?  or  eat  glass? — and  when 
he  had  mounted  into  a  cab,  he  bade  the  man  drive  to 
Nichol's  with  a  lurking  fear  that  there  was  no  such  place. 


GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    BEOADWOOD    GRAND.    159 

The  flaring,  gassy  entrance  of  the  cafe  speedily  set  his 
mind  at  rest ;  he  was  cheered  besides  to  recognize  his 
favorite  waiter ;  his  orders  appeared  to  be  coherent  ; 
the  dinner,  when  it  came,  was  quite  a  sensible  meal,  and 
he  ate  it  with  enjoyment.  "  Upon  my  word,"  he  reflected, 
"  I  am  about  tempted  to  indulge  a  hoj^e.  Have  I  been 
hasty  ?  Have  I  done  what  Robert  Skill  would  have 
done?"  Robert  Skill  (I  need  scarcely  mention)  was  the 
name  of  the  principal  character  in  Who  Put  Back  the 
Clock?  It  had  occurred  to  the  author  as  a  brilliant  and 
probable  invention  ;  to  readers  of  a  critical  turn,  Robert 
appeared  scarce  upon  a  level  with  his  surname  ;  but  it  is 
the  difficulty  of  the  police  romance,  that  the  reader  is  al- 
ways a  man  of  such  vastly  greater  ingenuity  than  the 
writer.  In  the  eyes  of  his  creator,  however,  Robert  Skill 
was  a  word  to  conjure  with  ;  the  thought  braced  and 
spuiTed  him  ;  what  that  brilliant  creature  would  have 
done,  Gideon  would  do  also.  This  frame  of  mind  is  not 
uncommon  :  the  distressed  general,  the  baited  divine,  the 
hesitating  author,  decide  severally  to  do  what  Napoleon, 
what  St.  Paul,  what  Shakespeare  would  have  done  ;  and 
there  remains  only  the  minor  question.  What  is  that  ?  In 
Gideon's  case,  one  thing  was  clear  :  Skill  was  a  man  of 
singular  decision,  he  would  have  taken  some  step  (what- 
ever it  was)  at  once  ;  and  the  only  step  that  Gideon  could 
think  of  was  to  return  to  his  chambers. 

This  being  achieved,  all  further  inspiration  failed  him, 
and  he  stood  pitifully  staring  at  the  instrument  of   his 


160  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

confusion.  To  touch  the  keys  again  was  more  than  he 
durst  venture  on  ;  whether  they  had  maintained  their 
former  silence,  or  responded  with  the  tones  of  the  last 
trump,  it  would  have  equally  dethroned  his  resolution. 
"It  maybe  a  practical  jest,"  he  reflected,  "though  it 
seems  elaborate  and  costly.  And  yet  what  else  can  it  be  ? 
It  mud  be  a  practical  jest."  And  just  then  his  eye  fell 
upon  a  feature  which  seemed  coiToborative  of  that  view  ; 
The  pagoda  of  cigars  which  Michael  had  erected  ere  he 
left  the  chambers.  "  Why  that  ? "  reflected  Gideon.  "It 
seems  entirely  irresponsible."  And  drawing  near,  he 
gingerly  demolished  it.  "A  hey,"  he  thought.  "Why 
that  ?  And  why  so  conspicuously  placed  ?  "  He  made 
the  circuit  of  the  instrument,  and  perceived  the  keyhole 
at  the  back.  "Aha!  this  is  what  the  key  is  for,"  said 
he.  "  They  wanted  me  to  look  inside.  Stranger  and 
stranger."  And  with  that,  he  turned  the  key  and  raised 
the  lid. 

In  what  antics  of  agony,  in  what  fits  of  flighty  resolu- 
tion, in  what  collapses  of  despair,  Gideon  consumed  the 
night,  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  inquire  too  closely. 

That  trill  of  tiny  song  with  which  the  eaves-birds  of 
London  welcome  the  approach  of  day,  found  him  limp  and 
rumpled  and  bloodshot,  and  with  a  mind  still  vacant  of 
resource.  He  rose  and  looked  forth  unrejoicingly  on 
blinded  windows,  an  empty  street,  and  the  gray  daylight 
dotted  with  the  yellow  lamps.  There  are  mornings  when 
the  city  seems  to  awake  with  a  sick  headache  ;  this  was 


GIDEON    FOKSYTH    AND    THE    BROADWOOD    GRAND.    161 

one  of  them ;  and  still  the  twittering  reveille  of  the 
sparrows  stirred  in  Gideon's  spirit. 

"  Day  here,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  still  helpless  !  This 
must  come  to  an  end."  And  he  locked  up  the  piano,  put 
the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  set  forth  in  quest  of  coffee.  As 
he  went,  his  mind  trudged  for  the  hundredth  time  a  cer- 
tain mill-road  of  terrors,  misgivings,  and  regi'ets.  To  call 
in  the  police,  to  give  up  the  body,  to  cover  London  with 
handbills  describing  John  Dickson  and  Ezra  Thomas,  to 
fill  the  papers  with  paragraphs,  Mysterious  Occurrence  in 
the  Temple — Mr.  Forsyth  admitted  to  hail,  this  was  one 
course,  an  easy  course,  a  safe  course ;  but  not,  the  more 
he  reflected  on  it,  not  a  pleasant  one.  For,  was  it  not  to 
publish  abroad  a  number  of  singular  facts  about  himself  ? 
A  child  ought  to  have  seen  through  the  story  of  these 
adventurers,  and  he  had  gaped  and  swallowed  it.  A  bar- 
rister of  the  least  self-respect  should  have  refused  to  listen 
to  clients  who  came  before  him  in  a  manner  so  irregular, 
and  he  had  listened.  And  Oh,  if  he  had  only  listened  ;  but 
he  had  gone  upon  their  errand — he,  a  barrister,  unin- 
structed  even  by  the  shadow  of  a  solicitor — upon  an  errand 
fit  only  for  a  private  detective  ;  and  alas  ! — and  for  the 
hundredth  time,  the  blood  surged  to  his  brow — he  had 
taken  their  money  !  "No,"  said  he,  "  the  thing  is  as  plain 
as  St.  Paul's.  I  shall  be  dishonored  !  I  have  smashed  my 
career  for  a  five-pound  note." 

Between  the  possibility  of  being  hanged  in  all  inno- 
cence, and  the  certainty  of  a  public  and  merited  disgrace, 
11 


1G2  THE    V.'RONO    BOX. 

no  gentleman  of  spirit  could  long  hesitate.  After  three 
gulps  of  that  hot,  snuffy,  and  muddy  beverage,  that 
passes  on  the  streets  of  Loudon  for  a  decoction  of  the 
coffee  berry,  Gideon's  mind  was  made  up.  He  would  do 
without  the  police.  Ho  must  face  the  other  side  of  the 
dilemma,  and  be  Robert  Skill  in  earnest.  What  would 
Robert  Skill  have  done  ?  How  does  a  gentleman  dispose 
of  a  dead  body,  honestly  come  by  ?  He  remembered  the 
inimitable  story  of  the  hunchback  ;  reviewed  its  course, 
and  dismissed  it  for  a  worthless  guide.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  prop  a  corpse  on  the  corner  of  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  without  arousing  fatal  curiosity  in  the  bosoms  of 
the  passers  by  ;  as  for  lowering  it  down  a  London  chim- 
ney, the  physical  obstacles  were  insurmountable.  To  get 
it  on  board  a  train  and  drop  it  out,  or  on  the  top  of  an 
omnibus  and  drop  it  off,  were  equally  out  of  the  question. 
To  get  it  on  a  yacht  and  drop  it  overboard,  was  more 
conceivable  ;  but  for  a  man  of  moderate  means,  it  seemed 
extravagant.  The  hire  of  the  yacht  was  in  itself  a  consider- 
ation ;  the  subsequent  suj^port  of  the  whole  crew  (which 
seemed  a  necessary  consequence)  was  simply  not  to  be 
thought  of.  His  uncle  and  the  houseboat  here  occurred 
in  very  luminous  colors  to  his  mind.  A  musical  com- 
poser (say,  of  the  name  of  Jimson)  might  very  well  suffer, 
like  Hogarth's  musician  before  him,  from  the  disturbances 
of  London.  He  might  very  well  be  pressed  for  time  to 
finish  an  opera — say  the  comic  opera  Orange  Pekoe — > 
Orange  Pekoe,  music  by  Jimson — "this  young  maestro, 


GIDEON    FORSYTH    AND    THE    BKOADWOOD    GKAND.    163 

one  of  the  most  promising  of  our  recent  English  school " 
—vigorous  entrance  of  the  drums,  etc. — the  whole  charac- 
ter of  Jimson  and  his  music  ai'ose  in  bulk  before  the  mind 
of  Gideon.  What  more  likely  than  Jimson's  arrival  with 
a  grand  piano  (say,  at  Padwick),  and  his  residence  in  a 
houseboat  alone  with  the  unfinished  score  of  Orange 
Pekoe  ?  His  subsequent  disappearance,  leaving  nothing 
behind  but  an  empty  piano  case,  it  might  be  more  diflB- 
cult  to  account  for.  And  yet  even  that  was  susceptible  of 
explanation.  For,  suppose  Jimson  had  gone  mad  over  a 
fugal  passage,  and  had  thereupon  destroyed  the  accom- 
plice of  his  infamy,  and  plunged  into  the  welcome  river  ? 
What  end,  on  the  whole,  more  probable  for  a  modern  mu- 
sician ? 

"By  jove,  I'll  do  it,"  cried  Gideon.     "Jimson  is  the 
boy ! " 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE    MAESTRO    jnviSON. 

Mr.  Edward  Hugh  Bloomfield  having  announced  his  in* 
tention  to  stay  in  the  neighborhood  of  Maidenhead,  what 
more  probable  than  that  the  Maestro  Jimson  should  turn 
his  mind  toward  Padwick  ?  Near  this  pleasant  riverside 
village,  he  remembered  to  have  observed  an  ancient,  weedy 
houseboat  lying  moored  beside  a  tuft  of  willows.  It  had 
stirred  in  him,  in  his  careless  houi-s,  as  he  pulled  down 
the  river  under  a  more  famihar  name,  a  certain  sense  of 
the  romantic  ;  and  when  the  nice  contrivance  of  his  story 
was  already  complete  in  his  mind,  he  had  come  near  pull- 
ing it  all  down  again,  like  an  ungrateful  clock,  in  order  to 
introduce  a  chapter  in  which  Robert  Skill  (who  was  always 
being  decoyed  somewhere)  should  bo  decoyed  on  board 
that  lonely  hulk  by  Lord  Bellew  and  the  American  des- 
perado Gin  Sling.  It  was  fortunate  he  had  not  done  so, 
he  reflected  ;  since  the  hulk  was  now  required  for  very 
diftei-ent  purposes. 

Jimson,  a  man  of  inconspicuous  costume,  but  insinuat- 
ing manners,  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  the  hireling 
who  had  charge  of  the  houseboat,  and  still  less  in  per- 
suading him   to  resign  his  care.     The  rent  was  almost 


THE    MAESTKO   JIMSON.  165 

nominal,  the  entry  immediate,  the  key  was  exchanged 
against  a  suitable  advance  in  money  ;  and  Jimson  re- 
turned to  town  by  the  afternoon  train  to  see  about  des- 
patching his  piano. 

"  I  wUl  be  down  to-morrow,"  he  had  said,  reassuringly. 
"  My  opera  is  waited  for  with  such  impatience,  you 
know." 

And,  sure  enough,  about  the  hour  of  noon  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  Jimson  might  have  been  observed  ascending 
the  riverside  road  that  goes  from  Pad  wick  to  Great  Haver- 
ham,  carrying  in  one  hand  a  basket  of  provisions,  and 
under  the  other  arm  a  leather  case  containing  (it  is  to  be 
conjectui'ed)  the  score  of  Orange  Pekoe.  It  was  October 
weather  ;  the  stone-gray  sky  was  full  of  larks,  the  leaden 
mirror  of  the  Thames  brightened  with  autumnal  foliage, 
and  the  fallen  leaves  of  the  chestnuts  chirped  under  the 
composer's  footing.  There  is  no  time  of  the  year  in  Eng- 
land more  courageous  ;  and  Jimson,  though  he  was  not 
without  his  troubles,  whistled  as  he  went. 

A  little  above  Padwick,  the  river  lies  very  solitary.  On 
the  opposite  shore  the  trees  of  a  private  park  inclose  the 
view,  the  chimneys  of  the  mansion  just  pricking  forth 
above  their  clusters  ;  on  the  near  side,  the  path  is  bor- 
dered by  willows.  Close  among  these  lay  the  houseboat, 
a  thing  so  soiled  by  the  tears  of  the  overhanging  wlUows, 
so  grown  upon  with  parasites,  so  decayed,  so  battered,  so 
neglected,  such  a  haunt  of  rats,  so  advertised  a  storehouse 
of  rheumatic  agonies,  that  the  heart  of  an  intending  oc- 


166  THE    WKONQ    BOX. 

ciipaut  might  well  recoil.  A  i^lank,  by  •wa}'  of  flying 
drawbridge,  joined  it  to  the  shore.  And  it  was  a  dx'eary 
moment  for  Jimson  when  he  pidled  this  after  him  and 
found  himself  alone  on  this  unwholesome  fortress.  He 
could  hear  the  rats  scuttle  and  flop  in  the  abhorred  in- 
terior ;  the  key  cried  among  the  wards  like  a  thing  in 
pain  ;  the  sitting-room  was  deep  in  dust,  and  smelt  strong 
of  bilge-water.  It  could  not  be  called  a  cheerful  spot, 
even  for  a  composer  absorbed  in  beloved  toil  ;  how  much 
less  for  a  young  gentleman,  haunted  by  alarms  and  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  a  corpse  ! 

He  sat  down,  cleared  away  a  piece  of  the  table,  and  at- 
tacked the  cold  luncheon  in  his  basket.  In  case  of  any 
subsequent  inquiry  into  the  fate  of  Jimson,  it  was  desir- 
able he  should  be  little  seen  ;  in  other  words,  that  ho 
should  spend  the  day  entirely  in  the  house  ;  to  this  end, 
and  further  to  corroborate  his  fable,  he  had  brought  in  the 
leather  case  not  only  writing  materials,  but  a  ream  of 
large-size  music  paper,  such  as  he  considered  suitable  for 
an  ambitious  character  like  Jimson's. 

"  And  now  to  work,"  said  he,  when  he  had  satisfied  his 
appetite.  "  We  must  leave  traces  of  the  wretched  man's 
activity."     And  he  wrote  in  bold  characters: 

ORANGE  PEKOE. 

Op.  17. 

J.   B.     JIMSON. 

Vocal  and  jx  f.  score. 


THE   MAESTRO   JIMSON.  167 

"  I  suppose  they  never  do  begin  like  this,"  reflected 
Gideon  ;  "  but  then  it's  quite  out  of  the  question  for  me 
to  tackle  a  full  score,  and  Jimson  was  so  unconventional. 
A  dedication  would  be  found  convincing,  I  believe. 
*  Dedicated  to '  (let  me  see)  '  to  William  Ewart  Gladstone, 
by  his  obedient  servant  the  composer.'  And  now  some 
music  :  I  had  better  avoid  the  overture,  it  seems  to  pre- 
sent difficulties.  Let's  give  an  air  for  the  tenor  :  Key — O, 
something  modern  ! — seven  sharps."  And  he  made  a 
business-like  signature  across  the  staves,  and  then  paused 
and  browsed  for  a  while  on  the  handle  of  his  pen.  Melody, 
with  no  better  inspiration  than  a  sheet  of  paper,  is  not 
usually  found  to  spring  unbidden  in  the  mind  of  the  ama- 
teur ;  nor  is  the  key  of  seven  sharps  a  place  of  much  re- 
pose to  the  untried.  He  cast  away  that  sheet.  "  It  will 
help  to  build  up  the  character  of  Jimson,"  Gideon  re- 
mai'ked  ;  and  again  waited  on  the  muse,  in  various 
keys  and  on  divers  sheets  of  paper,  but  all  with  results 
so  inconsiderable  that  he  stood  aghast.  "It's  very 
odd,"  thought  he.  "I  seem  to  have  less  fancy  than  I 
thought ;  or  this  is  an  off-day  with  me ;  yet  Jimson 
must  leave  something."  And  again  he  bent  himself  to 
the  task. 

Presently  the  penetrating  chill  of  the  houseboat  began 
to  attack  the  very  seat  of  life.  He  desisted  from  his  un- 
remunerative  trial ;  and  to  the  audible  annoyance  of  the 
rats,  walked  briskly  up  and  down  the  cabin.  Still  he  was 
cold.     "This   is   all  nonsense,"  said  he.     "I  don't   care 


168  TIIK    WKONG    BOX. 

about  the  risk,  but  I  will  not  catch  a  catarrh.  I  must  get 
out  of  this  cleB." 

He  stepped  on  deck,  and  passing  to  the  bow  of  his  em- 
barcation,  looked  for  the  first  time  up  the  river.  He 
started.  Only  a  few  hundred  yards  above  another  house- 
boat lay  moored  among  the  willows.  It  was  very  spick 
and  sjian,  an  elegant  canoe  hung  at  the  stem,  the  windows 
were  concealed  by  snowy  curtains  ;  a  flag  floated  from  a 
sta£f.  The  more  Gideon  looked  at  it  the  more  there 
mingled  with  his  disgust  a  sense  of  impotent  surprise.  It 
was  very  like  his  uncle's  houseboat ;  it  was  exceedingly 
like,  it  was  identical.  But  for  two  circumstances  he  could 
have  sworn  it  was  the  same.  The  first,  that  his  uncle  had 
gone  to  Maidenhead,  might  be  explained  away  by  that 
flightiness  of  j^urpose  which  is  so  common  a  trait  among 
the  more  than  usually  manl}-.  The  second,  however,  was 
conclusive.  It  was  not  in  the  least  like  Mr.  Bloomfield  to 
display  a  banner  on  his  floating  residence  ;  and  if  he  ever 
did,  it  would  certainly  be  dyed  in  hues  of  emblematical 
propriety.  Now  the  Squirradical,  like  the  vast  majority 
of  the  more  manly,  had  drawn  knowledge  at  the  wells 
of  Cambridge — he  was  wooden  spoon  in  the  year  1850  ; 
and  the  flag  upon  the  houseboat  streamed  on  the  after- 
noon air  with  the  colors  of  that  seat  of  Toryism,  that  cradle 
of  Puseyism,  that  home  of  the  inexact  and  the  efl'ete — ■ 
Oxford. 

Still  it  was  strangely  like,  thought  Gideon. 

And  as  he  thus  looked  and  thought,  the  door  opened, 


THE   MAiiSTEO   JIMSON.  169 

and  a  young  lady  stepped  forth  on  deck.  The  banister 
dropped  and  fled  into  his  cabin  ;  it  was  Juha  Hazeltine  ! 
Through  the  window  he  watched  her  draw  in  the  canoe, 
get  on  board  of  it,  cast  off,  and  come  dropping  down 
stream  in  his  direction. 

"  Well,  all  is  up  now,"  said  he,  and  he  fell  on  a  seat. 

"  Good-afternoon,  miss,"  said  a  voice  on  the  water. 
Gideon  knew  it  for  the  voice  of  his  landlord. 

"  Good-aftemoon,"  replied  Julia,  "  but  I  don't  know  who 
you  are  ;  do  I?  Oh,  yes,  I  do  though.  You  are  the  nice 
man  that  gave  us  leave  to  sketch  from  the  old  house- 
boat." 

Gideon's  heart  leajDed  with  fear. 

"That's  it,"  returned  the  man.  "And  what  I  wanted 
to  say  was  as  you  couldn't  do  it  any  more.  You  see  I've 
let  it." 

"  Let  it !  "  cried  Julia. 

"Let  it  for  a  month,"  said  the  man.  "  Seems  strange, 
don't  it?     Can't  see  what  the  party  wants  with  it !  " 

"It  seems  very  romantic  of  him,  I  think,"  said  Julia. 
"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  he  ?  " 

Julia  in  her  canoe,  the  landlord  in  his  wherry,  were 
close  alongside,  and  holding  on  by  the  gunwale  of  the 
houseboat ;  so  that  not  a  word  was  lost  on  Gideon. 

"  He's  a  music  man,"  said  the  landlord,  "  or  at  least  that's 
what  he  told  me,  miss ;  come  down  here  to  write  an 
op'ra." 

"  Really !  "  cried  Julia,  "  I  never  heard  of  anything  so 


170  THK    WRONG    BOX. 

delightful !  Why,  we  shall  be  able  to  slip  down  at  night 
and  hear  him  improvise  !     What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Jimson,"  said  the  man. 

"  Jimson  ?  "  repeated  Julia,  and  interrogated  her  mem- 
orj-  in  vain.  But  indeed  our  rising  school  of  English 
music  boasts  so  many  professors  that  we  rarely  hear  of  one 
till  he  is  made  a  baronet.  "  Ai-e  you  sure  you  have 
it  right?" 

"  Made  him  sjjell  it  to  me,"  replied  the  landlord. 
"J-I-M-S-O-N— Jimson  ;  and  his  op'ra's  called — some  kind 
of  tea." 

"Some  kind  of  tea!  "  cried  the  girl.  "What  a  very 
singular  name  for  an  opera  !  What  can  it  be  about  ?  " 
And  Gideon  heard  her  pretty  laughter  How  abroad.  "  We 
must  try  to  get  acquainted  with  this  Mr.  Jimson  ;  I  feel 
sure  he  must  be  nice." 

"  Well,  miss,  I'm  afraid  I  must  be  going  on.  I've  got 
to  be  at  Haverham,  you  see," 

"  Oh,  dou't  let  me  keep  you,  you  kind  man  !  "  said 
Julia.      "  Good-afternoon," 

"Good-afternoon  to  you,  miss." 

Gideon  sat  in  the  cabin  a  prey  to  the  most  harrowing 
thoughts.  Here  he  was  anchored  to  a  rotting  houseboat, 
soon  to  be  anchored  to  it  still  more  emphatically  by  the 
presence  of  the  corpse  ;  and  here  was  the  country  buzz- 
ing about  him,  and  young  ladies  already  proposing  pleas- 
ure parties  to  surround  his  house  at  night.  Well,  that 
meant  the  gallows ;  and  much  he  cared  for  that.     What 


THE    MAESTliO    JtMSON.  171 

troubled  him  now  was  Julia's  indescribable  levity.  That 
girl  would  scrape  acquaintance  with  anybody  ;  she  had  no 
reserve,  none  of  the  enamel  of  the  ladj'.  She  was  familiar 
with  a  brute  like  his  landlord  ;  she  took  an  immediate  in- 
terest (which  she  lacked  even  the  delicacy  to  conceal)  in  a 
creature  like  Jimson  !  He  could  conceive  her  askins: 
Jimson  to  have  tea  with  her !  And  it  was  for  a  girl  like 
this  that  a  man  like  Gideon — Down,  manly  heart ! 

He  was  interrujDted  by  a  sound  that  sent  him  whipping 
behind  the  door  in  a  trice.  Miss  Hazeltine  had  stepped 
on  boai'd  the  houseboat.  Her  sketch  was  promising  ; 
judging  from  the  stillness  she  supposed  Jimson  not  yet 
come  ;  and  she  had  decided  to  seize  occasion  and  com- 
plete the  work  of  art.  Down  she  sat  therefore  in  the  bow, 
produced  her  block  and  water-colors,  and  was  soon  sing- 
ing over  (what  used  to  be  called)  the  ladylike  accomplish- 
ment. Now  and  then  indeed  her  song  was  interrupted, 
as  she  searched  in  her  memory  for  some  of  the  odious 
little  receipts  by  means  of  which  the  game  is  practised — 
or  used  to  be  practised  in  the  brave  days  of  old  ;  they 
say  the  world,  and  those  ornaments  of  the  world,  young 
ladies,  are  become  more  sophisticated  now ;  but  Julia  had 
probably  studied  under  Pitman,  and  she  stood  firm  in  the 
old  ways. 

Gideon,  meanwhile,  stood  behind  the  door,  afraid  to 
move,  afraid  to  breathe,  afraid  to  think  of  what  must  fol- 
low, racked  by  confinement  and  borne  to  the  ground  with 
tedium.     This  particular  phase,  he  felt  with  gratitude, 


172  THE    WKONG    I!OX. 

could  not  last  forever  ;  whatever  ijiipendecl  (even  the  gal- 
lows, he  bitterly  and  perhaps  erroneously  reflected)  could 
not  fail  to  be  a  relief.  To  calculate  cubes  occurred  to  him 
as  an  ingenious  and  even  pi'ofitable  refuge  from  distress- 
ing thoughts,  and  he  threw  his  manhood  into  that  dreary 
exercise. 

Thus,  then,  were  these  two  young  persons  occupied, 
Gideon  attacking  the  perfect  number  with  resolution; 
Julia  vigorously  stippling  incongruous  colors  on  her 
block,  when  Providence  despatched  into  these  waters  a 
steam  launch  asthmatically  panting  up  the  Thames.  All 
along  the  banks  the  water  swelled  and  fell,  and  the  reeds 
rustled.  The  houseboat  itself,  that  ancient  stationary 
creature,  became  suddenly  imbued  with  life,  and  rolled 
briskly  at  her  moorings,  like  a  sea-going  ship  when  she 
begins  to  smell  the  harbor  bar.  The  wash  had  nearly 
died  away,  and  the  quick  panting  of  the  launch  sounded 
already  faint  and  far  off,  when  Gideon  was  startled  by  a 
cry  from  Julia.  Peering  through  the  window,  he  beheld 
her  stai'ing  disconsolately  down  stream  at  the  fast-vanish- 
ing canoe.  The  barrister  (whatever  were  his  faults)  dis- 
l>layed  on  this  occasion  a  promptitude  worthy  of  his  hero, 
Robert  Skill ;  with  one  effort  of  his  mind  he  foresaw  what 
was  about  to  follow  ;  with  one  movement  of  his  body  he 
dropped  to  the  floor  and  crawled  under  the  table. 

Julia,  on  her  part,  was  not  j^et  alive  to  her  position. 
She  saw  she  had  lost  the  canoe,  and  she  looked  forward 
with  something  less  than  avidity  to  her  next  interview 


THE    MAESTRO    JIMSON.  173 

with  Mr.  Bloomfield  ;  but  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was 
imprisoned,  for  she  knew  of  the  plank  bridge. 

She  made  the  circuit  of  the  house,  and  found  the  door 
open  and  the  bridge  withdrawn.  It  was  plain,  then,  that 
Jimson  must  have  comef  plain,  too,  that  he  must  be  on 
board.  He  must  be  a  very  shy  man  to  have  suffered  this 
invasion  of  his  residence,  and  made  no  sign  ;  and  her 
courage  rose  higher  at  the  thought.  He  must  come  now, 
she  must  force  him  from  his  privacy,  for  the  plank  was 
too  heavy  for  her  single  strength  ;  so  she  tapped  upon  the 
open  door.     Then  she  tapped  again. 

"Mr.  Jimson,"  she  cried,  "Mr.  Jimson  !  here,  come! — 
you  must  come,  you  know,  sooner  or  later,  for  I  can't  get 
off  without  you.  Oh,  don't  be  so  exceedingly  silly  !  Oh, 
please,  come !  " 

Still  there  was  no  reply. 

"If  he  is  here  he  must  be  mad,"  she  thought  with  a 
little  fear.  And  the  next  moment  she  remembered  he 
had  probably  gone  abroad  like  herself  in  a  boat.  In  that 
case,  she  might  as  well  see  the  houseboat,  and  she  pushed 
open  the  door  and  stepped  in.  Under  the  table,  where 
he  lay  smothered  with  dust,  Gideon's  heart  stood  still. 

There  were  the  remains  of  Jimson's  lunch.  "  He  likes 
rather  nice  things  to  eat,"  she  thought.  "  Oh,  I  am  sure 
he  is  quite  a  delightful  man.  I  wonder  if  he  is  as  good- 
looking  as  Mi\  Forsyth.  Mi's.  Jimson — I  don't  believe  it 
sounds  as  nice  as  Mrs.  Forsyth  ;  but  then  *  Gideon  '  is  so 
really  odious !     And  here  is  some  of  his  music  too  ;  this 


174  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

is  delightful.  Orange  Pekoe — Ob,  that's  what  he  meant 
by  some  kind  of  tea."  Aud  she  trilled  witli  laughter. 
''Adagio  molto  espressivo,  sewpre  legalo,''  she  read  next. 
(For  the  literary  part  of  a  composer's  business  Gideon 
was  well  equipped.)  "  How  ver\*strange  to  have  all  these 
directions,  and  only  three  or  four  notes!  Oh,  here's 
another  with  some  more.  Andante  patetico."  And  she 
began  to  glance  over  the  music.  "O  dear  me,"  she 
thought,  "he  must  be  terribly  modern  !  It  all  seems  dis- 
cords to  me.  Let's  try  the  air.  It  is  very  strange,  it 
seems  familiar."  She  began  to  sing  it,  and  suddenly 
broke  off  with  laughter.  "Why,  it's  Tommy  make  roo7n 
for  your  Uncle  !  "  she  cried  aloud,  so  that  the  soul  of  Gid- 
eon was  filled  with  bitterness.  "  Andante  patetico,  indeed ! 
The  man  must  be  a  mere  impostor." 

And  just  at  this  moment  there  came  a  confused,  scuf- 
fling sound  from  underneath  the  table  ;  a  strange  note,  like 
that  of  a  barn-door  fowl,  ushered  in  a  most  explosive 
sneeze ;  the  head  of  the  sufferer  was  at  the  same  time 
brought  smartly  in  contact  with  the  boards  above  ;  and 
the  sneeze  was  followed  by  a  hollow  groan. 

Julia  fled  to  the  door,  and  there,  with  the  salutary  in- 
stinct of  the  brave,  turned  and  faced  the  danger.  There 
was  no  pursuit.  The  sounds  continued  ;  below  the  table 
a  crouching  figure  was  indistinctly  to  be  seen  jostled  by 
the  throes  of  a  sneezing  fit ;  and  that  was  all. 

"  Surely,"  thought  Julia,  "  this  is  most  unusual  behav- 
ior.    He  cannot  be  a  man  of  the  world  !  " 


THE    MAESTBO    JIMSON. 


175 


Meanwhile  the  dust  of  years  bad  been  disturbed  by 
tlie  young  barrister's  convulsions;  and  the  sneezing  fit 
was  succeeded  by  a  passionate  access  of  coughing. 

Julia  began  to  feel  a  certain  interest.  "  I  am  afraid 
you  are  really  quite  ill,"  she  said,  drawing  a  little  nearer. 
"  Please  don't  let  me  put  you  out,  and  do  not  stay  under 
that  table,  Mr.  Jimson.  Indeed  it  cannot  be  good  for 
you. 

Mr.  Jimson  only  answered  by  a  distressing  cougli  ;  and 
the  next  moment  the  girl  was  on  her  knees  and  their  faces 
had  almost  knocked  together  under  the  table. 

"  Oh,  my  gracious  goodness !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Hazeltine, 
and  sprang  to  her  feet.     "  Mr.  Forsyth  gone  mad  !" 

"  I  am  not  mad,"  said  the  gentleman  ruefully,  extricat- 
ing himself  from  his  position.  "  Dearest  Miss  Hazeltine, 
I  vow  to  you  upon  my  knees  I  am  not  mad !  " 

"  You  are  not !  "  she  cried,  panting. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "that  to  a  superficial  eye  my  conduct 
may  appear  unconventional." 

"If  you  are  not  mad,  it  was  no  conduct  at  all,"  cried 
the  girl,  with  a  flash  of  color,  "  and  showed  you  did  not 
care  one  penny  for  my  feelings  !  " 

"  This  is  the  very  devil  and  all.  I  know — I  admit  that," 
cried  Gideon,  with  a  great  effect  of  manly  candor. 

"  It  was  abominable  conduct !  "  said  Julia,  with  energy. 

"I  know  it  must  have  shaken  your  esteem,"  said  the 
barrister.  "  But,  dearest  Miss  Hazeltine,  I  beg  of  you  to 
hear  me  out ;  my  behavior,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  is  not 


170  THK    WUONG    BOX. 

unsusceptible  of  explaujition  ;  aud  I  positively  cannot  and 
will  not  consent  to  continue  to  try  to  exist  without — with- 
out the  esteem  of  one  whom  I  admire — the  moment  is  ill- 
chosen,  I  am  well  aware  of  that ;  but  I  repeat  the  expres- 
sion— one  whom  I  admire." 

A  touch  of  amusement  appeared  on  Miss  Hazeltine's 
face.  "Very  well,"  said  she,  "  come  out  of  this  dreadfully 
cold  place,  and  let  us  sit  down  on  deck."  The  barrister 
dolefully  followed  her.  "Now,"  said  she,  making  herself 
comfortable  against  the  end  of  the  house,  "  go  on.  I  will 
hear  you  out."  And  then  seeing  him  stand  before  her 
with  so  much  obvious  disrelish  to  the  task,  she  was  sud- 
denly overcome  with  laughter.  Julia's  laugh  was  a  thing 
to  ravish  lovers  ;  she  rolled  her  mirthful  descant  with  the 
freedom  and  the  melody  of  a  blackbird's  song  upon  the 
river,  and  repeated  by  the  echoes  of  the  further  bank,  it 
seemed  a  thing  in  its  own  place  and  a  sound  native  to  the 
open  ail'.  There  was  only  one  creature  who  heard  it  with- 
out joy,  and  that  was  her  unfortunate  admirer. 

"  Miss  Hazeltine,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  tottered  with 
annoyance,  "I  speak  as  your  sincere  well-wisher,  but  this 
can  only  be  called  levity." 

Juha  made  great  eyes  at  him. 

"  I  can't  withdraw  the  word,"  he  said,  "  already  the 
freedom  with  which  I  heard  you  hobnobbing  with  a  boat- 
man gave  me  exquisite  pain.  Then  there  was  a  want  of 
reserve  about  Jimson " 

"But  Jimson  appears  to  be  yourself,"  objected  Julia. 


THE    ilAESTKO    JIMSON.  177 

"I  am  far  from  denying  that,"  cried  the  barrister,  "but 
you  did  not  know  it  at  the  time.  What  could  Jimsou  bo 
to  you  ?  Who  was  Jimsou  ?  Miss  Hazeltine,  it  cut  me 
to  the  heai't." 

"  Really  this  seems  to  me  to  be  very  silly,"  retui-ned 
Julia,  with  severe  decision.  "  You  have  behaved  in  the 
most  extraordinary  manner  ;  you  pretend  you  are  able  to 
explain  your  conduct,  and  instead  of  doing  so  you  be- 
gin to  attack  me." 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that,"  replied  Gideon.  "  I — I  will 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  When  you  know  all  the  cir- 
cumstances you  will  be  able  to  excuse  me." 

And  sitting  down  beside  her  on  the  deck,  he  poured 
forth  his  miserable  history. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth,"  she  cried,  when  he  had  done.  "I 
am — so — sorry  !  I  wish  I  hadn't  laughed  at  you — only 
you  know  you  really  were  so  exceedingly  funny.  But  I 
■wish  I  hadn't,  and  I  wouldn't  either  if  I  had  only  known." 
And  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

Gideon  kept  it  in  his  own.  "  You  do  not  think  the 
worse  of  me  for  this?  "  he  asked,  tenderly. 

"Because  you  have  been  so  silly  and  got  into  such 
dreadful  trouble  ?  you  poor  boy,  no  !  "  cried  Julia  ;  and 
in  the  warmth  of  the  moment,  reached  him  her  other 
hand;  "you  may  count  on  me,"  she  added. 

"Really?"  said  Gideon. 

"  Really  and  really  !  "  replied  the  girl. 

"I  do  then,  and  I  will,"  ci'ied  the  young  man,  "  I  admit 
12 


ITS  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

the  moment  is  not  well  cliosen  ;  but  I  have  no  friends^ 
to  speak  of." 

"No  more  have  I," said  Julia.  "  But  don't  you  think  it's 
perliaps  time  you  gave  me  back  my  hands  ?  " 

"  La  ci  darem  la  mano,"  said  the  barrister,  "  the  merest 
moment  more  !     I  have  so  few  friends,"  he  added. 

"I  thought  it  was  cousidei'ed  such  a  bad  account  of  a 
young  man  to  have  no  friends,"  observed  Julia. 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  crowds  of  friench !  "  cried  Gideon. 
"  That's  not  what  I  mean.  I  feel  the  moment  is  ill  chosen  ; 
but  oh,  Julia,  if  you  could  only  see  yourself  !  " 

"  Mr.  Forsyth^ " 

"Don't  call  me  by  that  beastly  name  !  "  cried  the  youth. 
"  Call  me  Gideon  !  " 

"Oh,  never  that!"  from  Julia.  "Besides,  we  have 
known  each  other  such  a  short  time." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  protested  Gideon.  "  We  met  at  Bourne- 
mouth ever  so  long  ago.  I  never  forgot  you  since.  Say 
you  never  forgot  me.  Say  you  never  forgot  me,  and  call 
me  Gideon  ! " 

"  Isn't  this  rather — a  want  of  reserve  about  Jimson  ?  " 
inquired  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  am  an  ass,"  cried  the  barristei*,  "and  I 
don't  care  a  half-penny  !  I  know  I'm  an  ass,  and  you  may 
laugh  at  me  to  your  heart's  delight."  And  as  Julia's  lips 
opened  with  a  smile,  he  once  more  dropped  into  music. 
"  There's  the  Land  of  Chen-y  Isle  !  "  he  sang,  courting  her 
with  hia  eyes. 


THE   MAESTRO    .IIMSON.  179 

-^It's  like  an  opera,"  said  Julia,  rather  faintly. 

"What  should  it  be?  "  said  Gideon.  "  Am  I  not  Jim- 
son  ?  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not  serenade  my  love. 
Oh,  yes,  I  mean  the  word,  my  Julia  ;  and  I  mean  to  win 
you.  I  am  in  dreadful  trouble,  and  I  have  not  a  penny 
of  my  own,  and  I  have  cut  the  silliest  figure  ;  and  yet  I 
mean  to  win  you,  Julia.  Look  at  me,  if  you  can,  and  tell 
me  no!  " 

She  looked  at  him  ;  and  whatever  her  eyes  may  have 
told  him,  it  is  to  be  supposed  he  took  a  pleasure  in  the 
message,  for  he  read  it  a  long  while. 

"And  Uncle  Ned  will  give  us  some  money  to  go  on 
upon  in  the  meanwhile,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Well,  I  call  that  cool ! "  said  a  cheerful  voice  at  hia 
elbow. 

Gideon  and  Julia  sprang  apart  with  wonderful  alacrity  ; 
the  latter  annoyed  to  observe  that  although  they  had 
never  moved  since  they  sat  down,  they  were  now  quite 
close  together  ;  both  presenting  faces  of  a  very  heightened 
color  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Edward  Hugh  Bloomfield.  That 
gentleman,  coming  up  the  river  in  his  boat,  had  captured 
the  truant  canoe,  and  divining  what  had  happened,  had 
thought  to  steal  a  march  on  Miss  Hazeltine  at  her  sketch. 
He  had  unexpectedly  brought  down  two  birds  with  one 
stone  ;  and  as  he  looked  upon  the  pair  of  flushed  and 
breathless  culprits,  the  pleasant  human  instinct  of  the 
Baatch-maker  softened  his  heart. 

**  Well,  I  call  that  cool,"  he  repeated  ;  "you  seem  to  count 


180 


THE    WRONG    BOX. 


very  securely  upon  Uucle  Ned.     But  look  here,  Gid,  1 
thought  I  had  told  you  to  keep  away  ?  " 

•'  To  keep  away  from  Maidenhead,"  replied  Gid.  "  But 
how  should  I  expect  to  find  you  here  ?  " 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  Mr.  Bloomfield  admitted. 
"  You  see  I  thought  it  better  that  even  you  should  be 
ignorant  of  my  address  ;  those  rascals,  the  Finsburys, 
would  have  wormed  it  out  of  you.  And  just  to  put  them 
off  the  scent  I  hoisted  these  abominable  colors.  But  that 
is  not  all,  Gid  ;  you  promised  me  to  work,  and  here  I 
find  you  playing  the  fool  at  Padwick." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Bloomfield,  you  must  not  be  hard  on 
Mr.  Forsyth,"  said  Julia.  "  Poor  boy,  he  is  in  dreadful 
straits. " 

"  "What's  this,  Gid  ?"  inquired  the  uncle.  "  Have  you 
been  fighting  ?  or  is  it  a  bill  ?  " 

These,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Squirradical,  were  the 
two  misfortunes  incident  to  gentlemen  ;  and  indeed  both 
were  culled  from  his  own  career.  He  had  once  put  his 
name  (as  a  matter  of  form)  on  a  friend's  paper  ;  it  had 
cost  him  a  cool  thousand  ;  and  the  friend  had  gone  about 
with  the  fear  of  death  upon  him  ever  since,  and  never 
turned  a  comer  without  scouting  in  front  of  him  for  Mr. 
Bloomfield  and  the  oaken  staff.  As  for  fighting,  the 
Squirradical  was  always  on  the  brink  of  it ;  and  once, 
when  (in  the  character  of  president  of  a  radical  club)  he 
had  cleared  out  the  hall  of  his  opponents,  things  hmj 
gone  even  further.     Mr.   Holtum,  the  conservative  can 


THE    MAESTKO    JIMSON.  18 

didate,  who  lay  so  long  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  was  pre- 
pared to  swear  to  Mr.  Bloomtield.  "  I  will  swear  to  it  in 
any  court — it  was  the  hand  of  that  brute  that  struck  me 
down,"  he  was  reported  to  have  said  ;  and  when  he  was 
thought  to  be  sinking,  it  was  known  that  he  had  made  an 
ante-mortem  statement  in  that  sense.  It  was  a  cheerful 
day  for  the  Squirradical  when  Holtum  was  restored  to 
his  brewery. 

"  It's  much  worse  than  that,"  said  Gideon,  "  a  combina- 
tion of  circumstances  really  providentially  unjust — a — 
in  fact,  a  syndicate  of  murderers  seem  to  have  perceived 
my  latent  ability  to  rid  them  of  the  traces  of  their  crime. 
It's  a  legal  study,  after  all,  you  see  ! "  And  with  these 
words,  Gideon,  for  the  second  time  that  day,  began  to  de- 
scribe the  adventures  of  the  Broadwood  Grand. 

"  I  must  write  to  The  Times,"  cried  IVIr.  Bloomfield. 

"Do  you  want  to  get  me  disbarred  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

"  Disbarred !  Come,  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  that,"  said 
his  uncle.  "  It's  a  good,  honest,  liberal  government  that's 
in,  and  they  would  certainly  move  at  my  request.  Thank 
God,  the  days  of  tory  jobbery  are  at  an  end." 

"It  wouldn't  do,  Uncle  Ned,"  said  Gideon. 

"But  you're  not  mad  enough,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield, 
"  to  persist  in  trying  to  dispose  of  it  yourself  ?  " 

"There  is  no  other  path  open  to  me,"  said  Gideon. 

"It's  not  common-sense,  and  I  will  not  hear  of  it,"  cried 
Mr.  Bloomfield.  "I  command  you,  positively,  Gid,  to 
desist  from  this  criminal  interference." 


1S2  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  hand  it  over  to  j'ou,"  said  Gid- 
eon, "and  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  the  dead 
body." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  ejaculated  the  president  of  the  radical 
club,  "I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Then  you  must  allow  me  to  do  the  best  I  can,"  re- 
turned his  nephew.  "Believe  me,  I  have  a  distinct  talent 
for  this  sort  of  difficulty." 

"  "We  might  forward  it  to  that  pest-house,  the  Conserva- 
tive Club,"  observed  Mr.  Bloomfield.  "  It  might  damage 
them  in  the  eyes  of  their  constituents ;  and  it  could  be 
profitably  worked  up  in  the  local  journal." 

"  If  3-ou  see  any  political  capital  in  the  thing,"  said 
Gideon,  "  you  may  have  it  for  me." 

"  No,  no,  Gid — no,  no,  I  thought  you  might.  I  will 
have  no  hand  in  the  thing.  On  reflection,  it's  highly  un- 
desirable that  either  I  or  Miss  Hazeltiue  should  linger 
here.  We  might  be  observed,"  said  the  president,  look- 
ing up  and  down  the  river  ;  "  and  in  my  public  position, 
the  consequences  would  be  painful  for  the  party.  And 
at  any  rate,  it's  dinner  time." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Gideon,  plunging  for  his  watch.  "  And 
60  it  is  !  Great  heaven,  the  piano  should  have  been  here 
hours  ago  !  " 

Mr.  Bloomfield  was  clambering  back  into  his  boat ;  but 
ftt  these  words  he  paused. 

"  I  saw  it  arrive  myself  at  the  station  ;  I  hired  a  car- 
I'ier  man  ;  he  had  a  round  to  make,  but  he  was  to  be  here 


THE    MAESTKO    JIMSON.  183 

by  four  at  the  latest,"  cried  the  barrister.     "  No  doubt 
the  piano  is  open,  and  the  body  found." 

"You  must  fly  at  once,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield,  "  it's  the 
only  manly  step." 

"But  suppose  it's  all  right?"  wailed  Gideon.  "Sup- 
pose the  piano  comes,  and  I  am  not  here  to  receive  it  ?  I 
shall  have  hanged  mj'self  by  my  cowardice.  No,  Uncle 
Ned,  inquiries  must  be  made  in  Padwick  ;  I  dare  not  go, 
of  course  ;  but  you  may,  you  could  hang  about  the  police 
office,  don't  vou  see  ?  " 

"No,  Gid — no,  my  dear  nephew,"  said  Mr.  Bloomfield, 
with  the  voice  of  one  on  the  rack.  "  I  regard  you  with 
the  most  sacred  affection  ;  and  I  thank  God  I  am  an 
Englishman — ^and  all  that.  But  not — not  the  police, 
Gid." 

"  Then  you  desert  me  ?  "  said  Gideon.     "  Say  it  plainly." 

"Far  from  it!  far  from  it !  "  protested  Mr.  Bloomfield. 
"  I  only  propose  caution.  Common-sense,  Gid,  should 
always  be  an  Englishman's  guide." 

"  Will  you  let  me  speak  ?  "  said  Julia.  "  I  think  Gideon 
had  better  leave  this  dreadful  houseboat,  and  wait  among 
the  willows  over  there.  If  the  piano  comes,  then  he  could 
step  out  and  take  it  in  ;  and  if  the  police  come,  he  could 
slip  into  our  houseboat,  and  there  needn't  be  any  more 
Jimson  at  all.  He  could  go  to  bed,  and  we  could  burn 
his  clothes  (couldn't  we  ?)  in  the  steam  launch  ;  and  then 
really  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  all  right.  Mr.  Bloomfield 
is  so  respectable,  you  know,    and  such  a  leading  char- 


184  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

acter,  it  would  be  quite  impossible  even  to  fancy  that  he 
could  be  mixed  up  with  it." 

"  This  young  lady  has  strong  common-sense,"  said  the 
Squirradical. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I'm  at  all  a  fool,"  said  Julia,  with 
conviction. 

"  But  what  if  neither  of  them  come  ?  "  asked  Gideon  ; 
"  what  shall  I  do  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  she,  "  you  had  better  go  down  to  the 
village  after  dark  ;  and  I  can  go  with  you,  and  then  I  am 
sure  you  could  never  be  suspected  ;  and  even  if  you  were, 
I  could  tell  them  it  was  altogether  a  mistake." 

"I  will  not  permit  that — I  will  not  suffer  ]Miss  Hazel- 
tine  to  go,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield. 

"Why?"  asked  Julia. 

Mr.  Bloomfield  had  not  the  least  desire  to  tell  her  why, 
for  it  was  simply  a  craven  fear  of  being  drawn  himself 
into  the  imbroglio ;  but  with  the  usual  tactics  of  a  man 
who  is  ashamed  of  himself,  he  took  the  high  hand.  "  God 
forbid,  my  dear  INIiss  Hazeltine,  that  I  should  dictate  to  a 
lady  on  the  question  of  pi-opriety — •"  he  began. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?  "  interrupted  Julia.  "  Then  we  must 
go  ail  three." 

"  Caught ! "  thought  the  Squii-radicaL 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

rOSITIVELY   THE   LAST    APPEAEANCE    OE    THE    BEOADWOOD    GRAND. 

England  is  supposed  to  be  unmusical  ;  but  without 
dwelling  on  the  patronage  extended  to  the  organ-grinder, 
without  seeking  to  found  any  argument  on  the  prevalence 
of  the  Jew's  trump,  there  is  surely  one  instmment  that 
may  be  said  to  be  national  in  the  fullest  acceptance  of  the 
word.  The  herdboy  in  the  broom,  ah'eady  musical  in 
the  days  of  Father  Chaucer,  startles  (and  perhaps  pains) 
the  lark  with  this  exiguous  pipe  ;  and  in  the  hands  of  the 
skilled  bricklayer, 

The  thing  becomes  a  trumpet,  wheuce  he  blows 

(as  a  general  rule)  either  The  BHtish  Grenadiers,  or  Cherry 
Ripe.  The  latter  air  is  indeed  the  shibboleth  and  diplo- 
ma piece  of  the  penny  whistler  ;  I  hazard  a  guess  it  was 
originally  composed  for  this  instrument.  It  is  singular 
enough  that  a  man  should  be  able  to  gain  a  livelihood,  or 
even  to  tide  over  a  period  of  unemployment,  by  the  dis- 
play of  his  proficiency  upon  the  penny  whistle  ;  still  more 
so,  that  the  professional  should  almost  invariably  confine 
himself  to  Cherry  Ripe.  But  indeed,  singularities  sur- 
round the  subject,  thick  like  blackberries.     Why,  for  in- 


186  TiiK  WRONG  nox. 

stance,  should  the  pipe  be  called  a  penny  whistle?  I 
think  no  one  ever  bought  it  for  a  penny.  Why  should 
the  alternative  name  be  tin  whistle  ?  I  am  grossly  de- 
ceived if  it  be  made  of  tin.  Lastly,  in  what  deaf  cata- 
comb, in  what  earless  desert,  does  the  beginner  pass  the 
excruciating  interval  of  his  apprenticeship  ?  We  have  all 
heard  people  learning  the  piano,  the  fiddle,  and  the  cor- 
net ;  but  the  young  of  the  penny  whistler  (like  that  of  the 
salmon)  is  occult  from  observation  ;  he  is  never  heard 
until  pi'oficient ;  and  providence  (perhaps  alarmed  by  the 
works  of  Ml-,  Mallock)  defends  human  hearing  from  his 
first  attempts  upon  the  upper  octave. 

A  really  noteworthy  thing  was  taking  place  in  a  green 
lane,  not  far  from  Padwick.  On  the  bench  of  a  carrier's 
cart  there  sat  a  tow-headed,  lanky,  modest-looking  youth; 
the  reins  were  on  his  lap  ;  the  whip  lay  behind  him  in 
the  interior  of  the  cart ;  the  horse  proceeded  without  guid- 
ance or  encouragement  ;  the  carrier  (or  the  carrier's  man) 
wrapt  into  a  higher  sphere  than  that  of  his  daily  occupa- 
tions, his  looks  dwelling  on  the  skies,  devoted  himself 
wholly  to  a  brand  new  D  penny  whistle,  whence  he  difii- 
dently  endeavored  to  elicit  that  pleasing  melody  The 
Ploughboy.  To  any  observant  person  who  should  have 
chanced  to  saunter  in  that  lane,  the  hour  would  have 
been  thrilling.  "Here  at  last,"  he  would  have  said,  "is 
the  beginner." 

The  tow-headed  youth  (whose  name  was  Harker)  had  just 
encored  himself   for    the  nineteenth   time,  when  he  was 


LAST    APPEARANCE    OF    THE    BROADWOOD    GRAND.    187 

struck  into  the  extreme  of  confusion  by  the  discovery  that 
he  was  not  alone. 

"  There  you  have  it ! "  cried  a  manly  voice  from  the 
side  of  the  road.  "  That's  as  good  as  I  want  to  hear. 
Perhaps  a  leetle  oilier  in  the  run,"  the  voice  suggested, 
with  meditative  gusto.     "  Give  it  us  again." 

Harker  glanced,  from  the  depths  of  his  humiliation,  at 
the  speaker.  He  beheld  a  powerful,  sun-brown,  clean- 
shaven fellow,  about  forty  years  of  age,  striding  beside  the 
cart  with  a  non-commissioned  militaiy  bearing,  and  (as  he 
strode)  spinning  in  the  air  a  cane.  The  fellow's  clothes 
were  very  bad,  but  he  looked  clean  and  self-reliant. 

"I'm  only  a  beginner,"  gasped  the  blushing  Harker, 
"I  didn't  think  anybody  could  hear  me." 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  "  returned  the  other.  "  You're  a 
pretty  old  beginner.  Come,  I'll  give  you  a  lead  myself. 
Give  us  a  seat  here  beside  you." 

The  next  moment  the  military  gentleman  was  perched 
on  the  cart,  pipe  in  hand.  He  gave  the  instrument  a 
knowing  rattle  on  the  shaft,  mouthed  it,  appeared  to 
commence  for  a  moment  with  the  muse,  and  dashed  into 
The  girl  Heft  behind  me.  He  was  a  great,  rather  than  a 
fine,  performer  ;  he  lacked  the  bird-like  richness  ;  he  could 
scarce  have  extracted  all  the  hone}^  out  of  Cherry  Ripe  ;  he 
did  not  fear — he  even  ostentatiously  displayed  and  seemed 
to  revel  in  the  shrillness  of  the  instrument  ;  but  in  fire, 
speed,  precision,  evenness,  and  fluency  ;  in  linked  agility 
oi  jimmy — a  technical  expression,  by  your  leave,  answer- 


1S8  TIIK    -WRONG    BOX. 

ing  to  warblers  on  the  bag-pipe  ;  and  perhaps,  above  all, 
in  that  inspiring  side-glance  of  the  eye,  with  which  he 
followed  the  effect  and  (as  by  a  human  appeal)  eked  out 
the  insufficiency  of  his  performance  :  in  these,  the  fellow 
stood  without  a  rival.  Harker  listeneds:  The  girl  I  left 
behind  me  filled  him  with  despair  ;  The  soldier's  joy  carried 
him  beyond  jealousy  into  generous  enthusiasm. 

"  Turn  about,"  said  the  military  gentleman,  offering  the 
pipe. 

"  Oh,  not  after  you  !  "  cried  Harker  ;  "  you're  a  pro- 
fessional." 

"  No,"  said  his  companion ;  "  an  amatyure  like  yourself. 
That's  one  style  of  play,  yours  is  the  other,  and  I  like  it 
best.  But  I  began  when  I  was  a  boy,  you  see,  before  my 
taste  was  formed.  When  you're  my  age  you'll  play  that 
thing  like  a  coruet-a-piston.  Give  us  that  air  again  ;  how 
does  it  go?"  and  he  affected  to  endeavor  to  recall  The 
Ploughboy. 

A  timid,  insane  hope  sprang  in  the  breast  of  Harker. 
Was  it  possible?  Was  there  something  in  his  playing? 
It  had,  indeed,  seemed  to  him  at  times  as  if  he  got  a  kind 
of  a  richness  out  of  it.  Was  he  a  genius  ?  Meantime  the 
military  gentleman  stumbled  over  the  air. 

"No,"  said  the  unhappy  Harker,  "that's  not  quite  it. 
It  goes  this  way — just  to  show  you." 

And,  taking  the  pipe  between  his  lips,  he  sealed  his 
doom.  When  he  had  played  the  air,  and  then  a  second 
time,  and  a  third  ;  when  the  military  gentleman  had  tried 


LAST    APPEAKANCE    OF    THE   BROADWOOD    GRAND,    189 

it  once  more,  and  once  more  failed  ;  when  it  became  clear 
to  Harker  that  he,  the  blushing  debutant,  was  actually 
giving  a  lesson  to  this  full-grown  flutist — and  the  flutist 
under  his  care  was  not  very  brilliantly  progressing — how 
am  I  to  tell  what  floods  of  glory  brightened  the  autumnal 
countryside  :  how,  unless  the  reader  were  an  amateur 
himself,  describe  the  heights  of  idiotic  vanity  to  which 
the  earner  climbed  ?  One  significant  fact  shall  paint  the 
situation  :  thenceforth  it  was  Harker  who  played,  and  the 
militaiy  gentleman  listened  and  approved. 

As  he  listened,  however,  he  did  not  forget  the  habit 
of  soldierly  precaution,  looking  both  behind  and  before. 
He  looked  behind  and  computed  the  value  of  the  carrier's 
load,  divining  the  contents  of  the  brown -paper  parcels  and 
the  portly  hamper,  and  briefly  setting  down  the  gTand 
piano  in  the  brand  new  piano-case  as  "  difficult  to  get  rid 
of."  He  looked  before,  and  spied  at  the  corner  of  the 
green  lane  a  little  country  public-house  embowered  in 
roses.  "I'll  have  a  shy  at  it,"  concluded  the  military 
gentleman,  and  roundly  proposed  a  glass. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  a  drinking  man,"  said  Harker. 

"Look  here,  now,"  cut  in  the  other,  "I'll  tell  you  who 
I  am  :  I'm  Color-sergeant  Brand  of  the  Blankth.  That'll 
tell  you  if  I'm  a  drinking  man  or  not."  It  might  and  it 
might  not,  thus  a  Greek  chorus  would  have  intervened, 
and  gone  on  to  point  out  how  very  far  it  fell  short  of  tell- 
ing why  the  sergeant  was  trampiug  a  country  lane  in  tat- 
ters ;  or  even  to  argue  that  he  must  have  jiretermitted 


190  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

some  while  ago  his  labors  for  the  general  defence,  and  (in 
the  interval)  possibly  turned  his  attention  to  oakum.  But 
there  was  no  Greek  chorus  present  ;  and  the  man  of  Avar 
went  on  to  contend  that  drinking  was  one  thing  and  a 
friendly  glass  another. 

In  the  Blue  Lion,  which  was  the  name  of  the  country 
public-house,  Color-sergeant  Brand  introduced  his  new 
friend,  Mr.  Harker,  to  a  number  of  ingenious  mixtures, 
calculated  to  prevent  the  approaches  of  intoxication. 
These  he  explained  to  be  "rekisite  "  in  the  service,  so  that 
a  self-respecting  officer  should  always  appear  upon  parade 
in  a  condition  honorable  to  his  corps.  The  most  effica- 
cious of  these  devices  was  to  lace  a  pint  of  mild  ale  with 
twopence  worth  of  London  gin.  I  am  pleased  to  hand  in 
this  recipe  to  the  discerning  reader,  who  may  find  it  use- 
ful even  in  civil  station ;  for  its  effect  upon  Mr,  Harker 
was  revolutionary.  He  must  be  helped  on  board  his  own 
wagon,  where  he  proceeded  to  display  a  spirit  entirely 
given  over  to  mirth  and  music,  alternately  hootiug  with 
laughter,  to  which  the  sergeant  hastened  to  bear  chorus, 
and  incoherently  tootling  on  the  pipe.  The  man  of  war, 
meantime,  unostentatiously  possessed  himself  of  the  reins. 
It  was  plain  he  had  a  taste  for  the  secluded  beauties  of  an 
English  landscape  ;  for  the  cart,  although  it  wandered 
under  his  guidance  for  some  time,  was  never  observed  to 
issue  on  the  dusty  highway,  journeying  between  hedge 
and  ditch,  and  for  the  most  part  under  overliauging 
boughs.     It  was  plain,  besides,  he  had  an  eye  to  the  true 


LAST    APPEARANCE    OF    THE    BROADWOOD    GRAND.    191 

interests  of  ]\Ir.  Harker  ;  for  though  the  cart  drew  up 
more  than  once  at  the  doors  of  pubHc-houses,  it  was  only 
the  sergeant  who  set  foot  to  ground,  and  being  equipped 
himself  with  a  quart  bottle,  once  more  proceeded  on  his 
rural  drive. 

To  give  any  idea  of  the  complexity  of  the  sergeant's 
course,  a  map  of  that  part  of  Middlesex  would  be  requiredj 
and  my  publisher  is  averse  from  the  expense.  Suffice  it, 
that  a  little  after  the  night  had  closed,  the  cart  was  brought 
to  a  standstill  in  a  woody  road  ;  where  the  sergeant  lifted 
from  among  the  parcels,  and  tenderly  deposited  upon  the 
wayside,  the  inanimate  form  of  Harker. 

"  If  you  come  to  before  daylight,"  thought  the  sergeant. 
"I  shall  be  surprised  for  one." 

From  the  various  pockets  of  the  slumberiug  earner,  he 
gently  collected  the  sum  of  seventeen  shillings  and  eight- 
pence  sterliug  ;  and  getting  once  more  into  the  cart,  drove 
thoughtfully  away. 

"  If  I  was  exactly  sure  of  where  I  was,  it  would  be  a 
good  job,"  he  reflected.     "  Anyway,  here's  a  corner." 

He  turned  it,  and  found  himself  upon  the  riverside.  A 
little  above  him  the  lights  of  a  house-boat  shone  cheer- 
fully ;  and  already  close  at  hand,  so  close  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  avoid  their  notice,  three  persons,  a  lady  and 
two  gentlemen,  were  deliberately  drawing  near.  The 
sergeant  put  his  trust  in  the  convenient  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  drove  on  to  meet  them.  One  of  the  gentle- 
men,  who  was  of  a  portly  figure,  walked  in  the  midst 


192 


THE    WKONG    BOX. 


of  the  fairway  and  presently  held  up  a  staff  by  way  of 
signal. 

"  My  man,  have  you  seen  anything  of  a  carrier's  cart  ?  " 
he  cried. 

Dark  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  the  sergeant  as  though  the 
slimmer  of  the  two  gentlemen  had  made  a  motion  to  pre- 
vent the  other  speaking,  and  (finding  himself  too  late)  had 
skipped  aside  with  some  alacrity.  At  another  season, 
Sergeant  Brand  would  have  paid  more  attention  to  the 
fact ;  but  he  was  then  immersed  in  the  perils  of  his  own 
predicament. 

"A  carrier's  cart?"  said  he,  with  a  perceptible  uncer- 
tainty of  voice.     "  No,  sir." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  portly  gentleman,  and  stood  aside  to 
let  the  sergeant  pass.  The  lady  appeared  to  bend  for- 
ward and  study  the  cart  with  every  mark  of  sharpened 
curiosity  ;  the  slimmer  gentleman  still  keeping  in  the 
rear. 

"I  wonder  what  the  devil  they  would  be  at,"  thought 
Sergeant  Branci ;  and  looking  fearfully  back,  he  saw  the 
trio  standing  together  in  the  midst  of  the  way,  like  folk 
consulting.  The  bravest  of  military  heroes  are  not  always 
equal  to  themselves  as  to  their  reputation  ;  and  fear,  on 
some  singular  provocation,  will  find  a  lodgement  in  the 
most  unfamiliar  bosom.  The  word  "  detective "  might 
have  been  heard  to  gurgle  in  the  sergeant's  throat  ;  and 
vigorously  api^lying  the  whip,  he  fled  up  the  riverside  road 
to  Great  Haverham,  at  the  gallop)  of  the  carrier's  horse 


LAST   APPEARANCE    OF    THE    BROAD  WOOD    GRAND.    193 

The  lights  of  the  house-boat  flashed  upon  the  flying  wagoo 
as  it  passed  ;  the  beat  of  hoofs  and  the  rattle  of  the  vehicle 
gradually  coalesced  and  died  away  ;  and  presently,  to  the 
trio  on  the  riverside,  silence  had  redescended. 

"It's  the  most  extraordinary  thing,"  cried  the  slimmer  of 
the  two  gentlemen,  "  but  that's  the  cart !  " 

"And  I  know  I  saw  a  piano,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  cart,  certainly  ;  and  the  extraordinary  thing 
is,  it's  not  the  man,"  added  the  first, 

"It  must  be  the  man,  Gid,  it  must  be,"  said  the  portly 
one. 

"  Well,  then,  why  is  he  running  away  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

"His  horse  bolted,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Squirradical. 

"  Nonsense  !  I  heard  the  whip  going  like  a  flail,"  said 
Gideon.     "It  simply  defies  the  human  reason." 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  broke  in  the  girl,  "  he  came  round  that 
corner.  Suppose  we  went  and — what  do  they  call  it  in 
books  ? — followed  his  trail  ?  There  may  be  a  house  there, 
or  somebody  who  saw  him,  or  something," 

"  Well,  suppose  we  did,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,"  said 
Gideon. 

The  fun  of  the  thing  (it  would  appear)  consisted  in  the 
extremely  close  juxtaposition  of  himself  and  Miss  Ha- 
zeltine.  To  Uncle  Ned,  who  was  excluded  from  these  sim- 
ple pleasures,  the  excursion  appeared  hopeless  from  the 
first  ;  and  when  a  fresh  perspective  of  darkness  opened 
up,  dimly  contained  between  park  palings  on  the  one  side 
and  a  hedge  and  ditch  upon  the  other,  the  whole  without 
13 


194  THE    WKOXG    BOX. 

the  smallest  signal  of  human  habitation,  the  Squirradical 
drew  up. 

"  This  is  a  wild-goose  chase,"  said  he. 

With  the  cessation  of  the  footfalls,  another  sound 
smote  upon  their  ears. 

"Oh,  what's  that?"  cried  Julia. 

"I  can't  think,"  said  Gideon. 

The  Squii-radical  had  his  stick  presented  like  a  sword. 
"Gid,"he  began,  "Gid,  I " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth!"  cried  the  girh  "Oh!  don't  go 
forward,  you  don't  know  what  it  might  be— it  might  be 
something  perfectly  horrid." 

"It  may  be  the  devil  itself,"  said  Gideon,  disengaging 
himself,  "  but  I  am  going  to  see  it." 

"  Don't  be  rash,  Gid,"  cried  his  uncle. 

The  barrister  drew  near  to  the  sound,  which  was  cer- 
tainly of  a  portentous  character.  In  quality,  it  appeared 
to  blend  the  strains  of  the  cow,  the  fog-horn,  and  the 
mosquito  ;  and  the  startling  manner  of  its  enunciation 
added  incalculably  to  its  terrors.  A  dark  object,  not  un- 
like the  human  form  divine,  appeared  on  the  brink  of  the 
ditch. 

"It's  a  man,"  said  Gideon,  "it's  only  a  man  ;  he  seems 
to  be  asleep  and  snoring.  Hullo,"  he  added,  a  moment 
after,  "  there  must  be  something  wrong  with  him,  he  won't 
waken." 

Gideon  produced  his  vestas,  struck  one,  and  by  its 
light  recognized  the  tow-head  of  Marker. 


LAST   APPEARANCE    OF    THE    BROADWOOD    GRAND.    105 

"This  is  the  man,"  said  he,  "  as  drunk  as  Belial.  I  see 
the  whole  story  ;"  and  to  his  two  companions,  who  had  now 
ventured  to  rejoin  hitn,  he  set  forth  a  theory  of  the 
divorce  between  the  carrier  and  his  cart,  which  was  not 
unlike  the  truth. 

"Drunken  brute!"  said  Uncle  Ned,  "let's  get  him  to  a 
pump  and  give  him  what  he  deserves." 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Gideon.  "It  is  highly  undesirable 
he  should  see  us  together  ;  and  really,  do  you  know,  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  him,  for  this  is  about  the  luckiest 
thing  that  could  have  possibly  occurred.  It  seems  to  me 
— Uncle  Ned,  I  declare  to  heaven  it  seems  to  me  I'm  clear 
of  it  !  " 

"Clear  of  what?"  asked  the  Squin-adical. 

"  The  whole  affair !  "  cried  Gideon.  *'  That  man  has  been 
ass  enough  to  steal  the  cart  and  the  dead  body  ;  what  he 
hopes  to  do  with  it,  I  neither  know  nor  care.  My  hands 
are  free,  Jimson  ceases ;  down  with  Jimson.  Shake  hands 
with  me.  Uncle  Ned— Julia,  darling  girl,  Julia,  I " 

"  Gideon,  Gideon  ! "  said  his  uncle. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  uncle,  when  we're  going  to  be  mar- 
ried so  soon,"  said  Gideon.  "You  know  you  said  so  your- 
self in  the  house-boat," 

"Did  I?"  said  Uncle  Ned,  "I  am  certain  I  said  no  such 
thing." 

"  Appeal  to  him,  tell  him  he  did,  get  on  his  soft  side," 
cried  Gideon.  "  He's  a  real  brick  if  you  get  on  his  soft 
side." 


19G  THE    WKONO    BOX. 

"Dear  Mr.  Bloomfielrl,"  said  Julia,  "I  know  Gideon 
will  be  such  a  very  good  boy,  and  he  has  promised  me  to 
do  such  a  lot  of  law,  and  I  will  see  that  he  does  too. 
And  you  know  it  is  so  very  steadying  to  young  men,  every- 
body admits  that ;  though,  of  course,  I  know  I  have  no 
money,  Mr.  Bloomfield,"  she  added. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  as  this  rapscallion  told  you  to- 
day on  the  boat,  Uncle  Ned  has  plenty,"  said  the  Squir- 
radical,  "and  I  can  never  forget  that  you  have  been  shame- 
fully defrauded.  So  as  there's  nobody  looking,  you  had 
better  give  your  Uncle  Ned  a  kiss.  There,  you  rogue," 
resumed  Mr.  Bloomfield,  when  the  ceremony  had  been 
daintily  performed,  "this  very  pretty  young  lady  is  yours, 
and  a  vast  deal  more  than  you  deserve.  But  now,  let  us 
get  back  to  the  house-boat,  get  up  steam  on  the  launch, 
and  away  back  to  town." 

"That's  the  thing!  "cried  Gideon;  "and  to-morrow, 
there  will  be  no  house-boat,  and  no  Jimson,  and  no  car- 
rier's cart,  and  no  piano ;  and  when  Harker  awakes  on  the 
ditch-side,  he  may  tell  himself  the  whole  aflfuii-  has  been  a 
dream," 

"Aha!  "said  Uncle  Ned,  "but  there's  another  man 
who  will  have  a  different  awakening.  That  fellow  in  the 
cart  will  find  he  has  been  too  clever  by  half." 

"  Uncle  Ned  and  Julia,"  said  Gideon,  "  I  am  as  happy 
as  the  King  of  Tartary,  my  heart  is  like  a  threepenny  bit, 
my  heels  are  like  feathers  ;  I  am  out  of  all  my  troubles, 
Julia's  hand  is  in  mine.     Is  this  a  time  for  anything  but 


LAST    APPEARANCE    OF   THE    BKOADWOOD    GRAND.    197 

handsome  sentiments  ?     Why,  there's  not  room  in  me  for 
anything  that's  not  angehc  !     And  when  I  think  of  that 
poor  unhappy  devil  in  the  cart,  I  stand  here  in  the  night 
and  cry  with  a  single  heart — God  help  him  !  " 
"Amen,"  said  Uncle  Ned. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

THE   TRIBULATIONS   OF   MORRIS  :    PART   THE   SECOND. 

In  a  really  polite  age  of  literature,  I  would  have  scorned 
to  cast  my  eye  again  on  the  contortions  of  Morris.  But 
the  study  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  day  ;  it  presents,  besides, 
features  of  a  high,  almost  a  repulsive  morality  ;  and  if  it 
should  prove -the  means  of  preventing  any  respectable  and 
inexperienced  gentleman  fi'om  plunging  light-heartedly 
into  ci-ime,  even  political  crime,  this  work  will  not  have 
been  penned  in  vain. 

He  rose  on  the  morrow  of  his  night  with  Michael,  rose 
from  the  leaden  slumber  of  distress,  to  find  his  hand 
tremulous,  his  eyes  closed  with  rheum,  his  throat  parched, 
and  his  digestion  obviously  paralyzed.  "  Lord  knows  it's 
not  from  eating  !  "  Morris  thought ;  and  as  he  dressed 
he  reconsidered  his  position  under  several  heads.  Noth- 
ing will  so  well  depict  the  troubled  seas  in  which  he  was 
now  voyaging  as  a  review  of  these  various  anxieties.  I 
have  thrown  them  (for  the  reader's  convenience)  into  a 
certain  order  ;  but  in  the  mind  of  one  poor  human  equal, 
they  whirled  together  like  the  dust  of  hurricanes.  With 
the  same  obliging  preoccupation,  I  have  put  a  name  to 
each  of  his  distresses  ;  and  it  will  be  observed  with  pity 


TKIBULATIONS    OF    MOKRIS  :    PART    THE    SECOND.      199 

* 

that  every  individual  item  -would  have  graced  and  com- 
mended the  cover  of  a  railway  novel. 

Anxiety  the  Fij-st :  fVJiere  is  the  Body  7  or,  the  Mystery 
of  Bent  Pitman.  It  was  now  manifestly  plain  that  Bent 
Pitman  (as  was  to  be  looked  for  from  his  ominous  appel- 
lation) belonged  to  the  darker  order  of  the  criminal  class. 
An  honest  man  would  not  have  cashed  the  bill;  a  humane 
man  would  not  have  accepted  in  silence  the  tragic  con- 
tents of  the  water-butt ;  a  man,  who  was  not  already  up 
to  the  hilts  in  gore,  would  have  lacked  the  means  of  se- 
cretly disposing  them.  This  process  of  reasoning  left  a 
horrid  image  of  the  monster,  Pitman.  *  Doubtless  he  had 
long  ago  disposed  of  the  body — droj^ping  it  through  a 
trap-door  in  his  back  kitchen,  Morris  supposed,  with  some  _ 
hazy  recollection  of  a  picture  in  a  penny  dreadful  ;  and 
doubtless  the  man  now  lived  in  wanton  splendor  on  the 
proceeds  of  the  bill.  So  far,  all  was  peace.  But  with  the 
profligate  habits  of  a  man  like  Bent  Pitman  (who  was  no 
doubt  a  hunchback  in  the  bargain),  eight  hundred  pounds 
could  be  easily  melted  in  a  week.  When  they  were  gone, 
what  would  he  be  likely  to  do  next  ?  A  hell-like  voice  in 
Morris's  own  bosom  gave  the  answer  :  "Blackmail  me." 

Anxiety  the  Second  :  Tlie  Fraud  of  the  Tontine  ;  or,  Is 
my  Uncle  Dead?  This,  on  which  all  Morris's  hopes  de- 
pended, was  yet  a  question.  He  had  tried  to  bully 
Teena  ;  he  had  tried  to  bribe  her  ;  and  nothing  came  of 
it.  He  had  his  moral  conviction  still  ;  but  you  cannot 
blackmail  a  sharp  lawyer  on  a   moral  conviction.     And 


200  THE    WRONG   BOX. 

besides,  since  bis  intendew  witb  Micbael,  tbe  idea  wore  a 
less  attractive  countenance.  Was  Micbael  tbe  man  to  be 
blackmailed  ?  and  was  Morris  tbe  man  to  do  it  ?  Grave 
considerations.  "It's  not  tbat  I  am  afraid  of  bim," 
Morris  so  far  condescended  to  reassure  bimself  ;  "but  I 
must  be  very  certain  of  m}-  ground,  and  tbe  deuce  of  it 
is,  I  see  no  way.  How  unlike  is  life  to  novels  !  I  wouldn't 
liave  even  begun  tbis  business  in  a  novel,  but  wbat  I'd 
bave  met  a  dark,  sloucbing  fellow  in  tbe  Oxford  Road, 
wbo'd  bave  become  my  accomplice,  and  known  all  about 
how  to  do  it,  and  probably  broken  into  Micbael's  bouse  at 
nigbt  and  found  notbing  but  a  wax-work  image ;  and 
then  blackmailed  or  murdered  me.  But  bere,  in  real  life, 
I  migbt  walk  tbe  streets  till  I  dropped  dead,  and  none  of 
the  criminal  classes  would  look  near  me.  Though,  to  be 
sure,  there  is  always  Pitman,"  he  added,  thoughtfully. 

Anxiety  the  Third  :  The  Cottage  at  Broicndean  ;  or,  The 
Underpaid  Accomplice.  For  he  had  an  accomplice,  and 
that  accomplice  was  blooming  unseen  in  a  damj)  cottage 
in  Hampshire  with  empty  pockets.  What  could  be  done 
about  tbat  ?  He  really  ought  to  have  sent  him  some- 
thing ;  if  it  was  only  a  post-office  order  for  five-bob, 
enough  to  prove  that  he  was  kept  in  mind,  enough  to 
keep  him  in  hope,  beer,  and  tobacco.  "  But  what  would 
you  have  ?  "  thought  Morris  ;  and  ruefully  poured  into  his 
hand  a  half-crown,  a  florin,  and  eightpence  in  small 
change.  For  a  man  in  Morris's  position,  at  war  with  all 
society,  and  conducting,  with  tbe  hand  of  inexperience, 


TRIBULATIONS    OF    MOERIS !    PART   THE    SECOND.      201 

a  widely  ramified  intrigue,  the  sum  was  already  a  derision. 
John  would  have  to  be  doing  ;  no  mistake  of  that.  "But 
then,"  asked  the  hell-like  voice,  "how  long  is  John  likely 
to  stand  it?" 

Anxiety  the  Fourth :  Tlie  Leather  Business ;  or,  TJie 
Shutters  at  Last ;  a  Tale  of  the  City.  On  this  head,  Morris 
had  no  news.  He  had  not  yet  dared  to  visit  the  ftimily 
concern  ;  yet  he  knew  he  must  delay  no  longer,  and  if 
anything  had  been  wanted  to  sharpen  this  conviction, 
^Michael's  references  of  the  night  before  rang  ambiguously 
in  his  eai*.  Well  and  good.  To  visit  the  city  might  be 
indispensable  ;  but  what  was  he  to  do  when  he  was  there  ? 
He  had  no  right  to  sign  in  his  own  name  ;  and  with  all 
the  will  in  the  world,  he  seemed  to  lack  the  art  of  signing 
with  his  uncle's.  Under  these  circumstances,  Moms 
could  do  nothing  to  procrastinate  the  crash  ;  and  when  it 
came,  when  prying  eyes  began  to  be  applied  to  every 
joint  of  his  behavior,  two  questions  could  not  fail  to  be 
addressed,  sooner  or  later,  to  a  speechless  and  perspiring 
insolvent.  Where  is  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbmy  ?  and  how 
about  your  visit  to  the  bank?  Questions,  how  easy  to 
put ! — ye  gods,  how  impossible  to  answer  !  The  man  to 
whom  they  should  be  addressed  went  certainlj^  to  jail,  and 
— eh  !  what  was  this  ? — possibly  to  the  gallows.  Morris 
was  trying  to  shave  when  this  idea  struck  him,  and  he 
laid  the  razor  down.  Here  (in  jMichael's  words)  was  the 
total  disappearance  of  a  valuable  uncle  ;  here  was  a  time 
of  iuespHcable  conduct  on  the  part  of  a  nephew  who  had 


202  THE   WKONG    BOX. 

been  in  bad  blood  with  the  old  man  any  time  these  seven 
years;  what  a  chance  for  a  judicial  blunder!  "But  no," 
thought  Morris,  "they  cannot,  they  dare  not  make  it 
murder.  Not  that.  But  honestly,  and  speaking  as  a  man 
to  a  man,  I  don't  see  any  other  crime  in  the  calendar  (ex- 
cept arson)  that  I  don't  seem  somehow  to  have  committed. 
And  yet  I'm  a  perfectly  respectable  man,  and  wished  noth- 
ing but  my  due.     Law  is  a  pretty  business." 

With  this  conclusion  firmly  seated  in  his  mind,  Morris 
Finsbury  descended  to  the  hall  of  the  house  in  John 
Street,  still  half  shaven.  There  was  a  letter  in  the  box  ; 
he  knew  the  handwriting :  John  at  last. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  might  have  been  spared  this,"  he  said 
bitterly,  and  tore  it  open. 

"Dear  Morris,"  it  ran,  "what  the  dickens  do  you  mean 
by  it  ?  I'm  in  an  awful  hole  down  here ;  I  have  to  go 
on  tick,  and  the  parties  on  the  spot  don't  cotton  to  the 
idea ;  they  couldn't,  because  it  is  so  plain  I'm  in  a  stait  of 
Destitution.  I've  got  no  bed-clothes,  think  of  that,  I  must 
have  coins,  the  hole  thing's  a  Mockry,  I  won't  stand  it, 
nobody  would.  I  would  have  come  away  before,  only  I 
have  no  money  for  the  railway  fail.  Don't  be  a  lunatic, 
Morris,  you  don't  seem  to  understand  my  drcdful  situa- 
tion. I  have  to  get  the  stamp  on  tick.  A  fact.  Ever 
your  affte.  Brother,     J.  Finsbury." 

"  Can't  even  spell ! "  Morris  reflected,  as  he  crammed 
the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  left  the  house,  "What  can 
I  do  for  him  ?     I  have  to  go  to  the  expense  of   a  barber, 


TEIBULATIONS    OF   MOEKIS :    PART   THE    SECO^^D.      203 

I'm  SO  shattered  !  How  can  I  send  anybody  coins  ?  It's 
hard  lines,  I  dare  say ;  but  does  he  think  I'm  Hving  on  hot 
muffins?  One  comfort,"  was  his  gi'im  reflection,  "  he  can't 
cut  and  run :  he's  got  to  stay,  he's  as  helpless  as  the 
dead,"  And  then  he  broke  forth  again  :  "  Complains, 
does  he  ?  and  he's  never  even  heard  of  Bent  Pitman !  If 
he  had  what  I  have  on  my  mind,  he  might  complain  with 
a  good  grace." 

But  these  were  not  honest  arguments,  or  not  wholly 
honest ;  there  was  a  struggle  in  the  mind  of  Morris  ;  he 
could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  his  brother  John  was 
miserably  situated  at  Browndean,  without  news,  without 
money,  without  bed-clothes,  without  society  or  any  enter- 
tainment ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  been  shaved  and  picked 
a  hasty  breakfast  at  a  coffee-tavern,  Morris  had  arrived  at 
a  compromise. 

" Poor  Johnnie,"  he  said  to  himself,  "he's  in  an  awful 
box.  I  can't  send  him  coins ;  but  FU  tell  you  what  I'll 
do,  I'll  send  him  the  Pink  Un,  it'll  cheer  John  up ;  and 
besides,  it'U  do  his  credit  good  getting  anything  by  post" 

Accordingly,  on  his  way  to  the  leather  business,  whither 
he  proceeded  (according  to  his  thrifty  habit)  on  foot, 
Morris  purchased  and  despatched  a  single  copy  of  that 
enlivening  periodical,  to  which  (in  a  sudden  pang  of  re- 
morse) he  added  at  random  the  Athenceum,  the  Remvalist, 
and  the  Penny  Pictorial  Weekly.  So  there  was  John  set 
up  with  Uterature,  and  Morris  had  laid  balm  upon  hia 
conscience. 


204  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

As  if  to  reward  him,  ]io  was  received  in  Lis  place  of 
business  with  good  news.  Orders  were  i^ouring  in  ;  there 
was  a  run  on  some  of  the  back  stock,  and  the  figure  had 
gone  up ;  even  the  manager  appeared  elated.  As  for  Mor- 
ris, who  had  almost  forgotten  the  meaning  of  good  news, 
he  longed  to  sob  like  a  little  child  ;  he  could  have  caught 
the  manager  (a  pallid  man  with  startled  ej'ebrows)  to  his 
bosom  ;  he  could  have  found  it  in  his  generosity  to  give  a 
check  (for  a  small  sum)  to  every  clerk  in  the  counting- 
house.  As  he  sat  and  opened  his  letters,  a  chorus  of  airy 
vocalists  sang  in  his  brain,  to  most  exquisite  music, 
"  This  old  concern  may  be  profitable  yet,  profitable  yet, 
profitable  yet." 

To  him,  in  this  sunny  moment  of  relief,  enter  a  Mr. 
Eodgerson,  a  creditor,  but  not  one  who  was  expected  to 
be  pressing,  for  his  connection  with  the  firm  was  old  and 
regular. 

"  Oh,  Finsbury,"  said  he,  not  without  embarrassment, 
"it's  of  course  only  fair  to  let  you  know — the  fact  is, 
money  is  a  trifle  tight — I  have  some  paper  out — for  that 
matter,  every  one's  complaining — and  in  short " 

"  It  has  never  been  our  habit,  Rodgerson,"  said  Morris, 
turning  pale.  "  But  give  me  time  to  turn  round,  and  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do  ;  I  dare  say  we  can  let  you  have  some- 
thing to  account." 

"Well,  that's  just  where  it  is,"  replied  Rodgerson.  "I 
was  tempted,  I've  let  the  credit  out  of  my  hands." 

"  Out   of  your   hands  ?  "   repeated   Morris.      "  That's 


TR1BULATI0>;S    OF    MORKIS  '.    I'AKT    THE    SECOND.      2U5 

playing    rather    fast   and    loose    with    us,    Mr.    Eodger- 
son." 

"Well,  I  got  cent  for  cent  for  it,"  said  tlie  other,  "on 
the  nail,  in  a  certified  cheque. " 

"  Cent  for  cent !  "  cried  Morris.  "  Why,  that's  some- 
thing like  thirty  per  cent,  bonus  ;  a  singular  thing  ! 
Who's  the  party  ?  " 

"Don't  know  the  man,"  was  the  reply.  "Name  of 
Moss." 

"  A  Jew,"  Morris  reflected,  when  his  visitor  was  gone. 
And  what  could  a  Jew  want  with  a  claim  of — he  verified 
the  amount  in  the  books— a  claim  of  three  five  eight, 
nineteen,  ten,  against  the  house  of  Finsbury  ?  And  why 
should  he  pay  cent  for  cent  ?  The  figure  proved  the  loy- 
alty of  Kodgerson,  even  Morris  admitted  that.  But  it 
proved  unfortunately  something  else  :  the  eagerness  of 
Moss.  The  claim  must  have  been  wanted  instantly,  for 
that  day,  for  that  morning  even.  Why  ?  The  mystery  of 
Moss  promised  to  be  a  fit  pendant  to  the  mystery  of  Pit- 
man. "And  just  when  all  was  looking  well,  too!  "  cried 
Morris,  smiting  his  hand  upon  the  desk.  And  almost  at 
the  same  moment,  Mr.  Moss  was  announced. 

IMr.  Moss  was  a  radiant  Hebrew,  brutally  handsome  and 
offensively  polite.  He  was  acting  (it  appeared)  for  a  third 
party  ;  he  understood  nothing  of  the  circumstances  ;  his 
client  desired  to  have  his  position  regularized  ;  but  he 
would  accept  an  antedated  cheque — antedated  by  two 
months,  if  IVIr,  Finsbury  chose. 


206 


THE    WEONG    UOX. 


"But  I  don't  understand  tliis,"  said  Morris.  "What 
made  you  pay  cent,  per  cent,  for  it  to-day  ?  " 

Mr.  Moss  Lad  no  idea  ;  only  his  orders. 

"The  whole  thing  is  thoroughly  irregular,"  said  Morris. 
"  It  is  not  the  custom  of  the  trade  to  settle  at  this  time  of 
the  year.     What  are  your  instructions  if  I  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  am  to  see  Mr.  Joseph  Fiusbury,  the  head  of  the 
firm,"  said  Mr.  Moss.  "  I  was  directed  to  insist  on  that ; 
it  was  implied  you  had  no  status  here — the  expressions  are 
not  mine." 

"  You  cannot  see  IMr.  Joseph  ;  he  is  unwell,"  said 
Moms. 

"  In  that  case  I  was  to  place  the  matter  in  the  hands  of 
a  lawyer— let  me  see—"  said  Mr.  Moss,  opening  a  pocket- 
book,  with  perhaps,  suspicious  care,  at  the  right  place— 
"  Yes— of  Mr.  Michael  Finsbury.  A  relation,  perhaps?  In 
that  case,  I  presume,  the  matter  will  be  pleasantly  ar- 
ranged." 

To  pass  into  the  hands  of  Michael  was  too  much  for 
Morris  ;  he  struck  his  colors  :  a  cheque  at  two  months 
was  nothing,  after  all.  In  two  months  he  would  probably 
be  dead,  or  in  a  gaol  at  any  rate.  He  bade  the  manager 
give  Mr.  Moss  a  chair  and  the  paper.  "  I'm  going  over  to 
get  a  cheque  signed  by  Mr.  Finsbury,"  said  he,  "who  is 
lying  ill  at  John  Street." 

A  cab  there  and  a  cab  back,  here  were  inroads  on  his 
wretched  capital !  He  counted  the  cost ;  when  he  was 
do^e  with  Mr.  Moss,  he  would  be  left  with  twelve-pence 


TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS  :    PART    TFIE    SECOND.      207 

lialf-peuny  in  the  world.  What  was  even  worse,  he  had 
now  been  forced  to  bring  his  uncle  up  to  Bloomsburj. 
"  No  use  for  j^oor  Johnnie  in  Hampshire  now,"  he  re- 
flected. "  And  how  the  farce  is  to  be  kept  up  completely 
passes  me.  At  Browndean  it  was  just  possible  ;  in 
Bloomsburj  it  seems  beyond  human  ingenuity — though  I 
suppose  it's  what  Michael  does.  But  then  he  has  accom- 
plices, that  Scotchman  and  the  whole  gang.  Ah,  if  I  had 
accomplices ! " 

Necessity  is  the  mother  of  the  arts  ;  under  a  spur  so 
immediate  Morris  surprised  himself  by  the  neatness  and 
despatch  of  his  new  forgery  ;  and  within  three-fourths  of 
an  hour  had  handed  it  to  Mr.  Moss. 

"That  is  very  satisfactory,"  observed  that  gentleman, 
rising.  "I  was  to  tell  you  it  will  not  be  presented,  but 
you  had.  better  take  care." 

The  room  swam  round  Morris.  "  WTiat — what's  that ! " 
he  cried,  grasping  the  table  ;  he  was  miserably  conscious, 
the  next  moment,  of  his  shrill  tongue  and  ashen  face. 
"  What  do  you  mean — it  will  not  be  presented  ?  AVhy 
am  I  to  take  care  ?     "WTiat  is  all  this  mummery  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  replied  the  smiling 
Hebrew.  "  It  was  a  message  I  was  to  deliver  ;  the  ex- 
pressions were  put  into  my  mouth." 

"  What  is  your  client's  name  ?  "  asked  Morris. 

"  That  is  a  secret  for  the  moment,"  answered  Mr.  Moss. 

Morris  bent  toward  him.  "  It's  not  the  bank  ?  "  he 
asked,  hoarsely. 


208  TlIK    WUO.VCr    BOX. 

"I  have  no  authority  to  say  more,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Moss.  "  I  will  wish  you  a  good-morning,  if 
you  please." 

"  Wish  me  a  good-morning  !  "  thought  Morris  ;  and  the 
next  moment,  seizing  his  hat,  he  fled  from  his  place  of 
business  like  a  madman.  Three  streets  away  he  stopped 
and  groaned.  "Lord!  I  should  have  borrowed  from  the 
manager!"  he  cried.  "But  it's  too  late  now;  it  would 
look  dicky  to  go  back  ;  I'm  penniless — simply  penniless 
— like  the  unemj)loyed." 

He  went  home  and  sat  in  the  dismantled  dining-room 
with  his  head  in  his  hands.  Newton  never  thought  harder 
than  this  victim  of  circumstance,  and  yet  no  clearness 
came.  "  It  may  be  a  defect  in  my  intelligence,"  he  cried, 
rising  to  his  feet,  "  but  I  cannot  see  that  I  am  fairly  used. 
The  bad  luck  I've  had  is  a  thing  to  write  to  The  Times 
about ;  its  enough  to  breed  a  revolution.  And  the  plain 
English  of  the  whole  thing  is  that  I  must  have  money  at 
once.  I'm  done  with  all  morality  now  ;  I'm  long  past 
that  stage  ;  money  I  must  have,  and  the  only  chance  I  see 
is  Bent  Pitman.  Bent  Pitman  is  a  criminal,  and  therefore 
his  position's  weak.  He  must  have  some  of  that  eight 
hundred  left ;  if  he  has  I'll  force  him  to  go  shai-es ;  and 
even  if  he  hasn't,  I'll  tell  him  the  tontine  afifiiir,  and  with 
a  desperate  man  like  Pitman  at  my  back,  it'll  be  strange 
if  I  don't  succeed." 

Well  and  good.  But  how  to  lay  hands  upon  Bent  Pit- 
man, except  by  advertisement,  was  not  so  clear.    And  even 


TRIBULATIONS    OF    MORRIS  t    PART    THE    SECOND.      209 

SO,  in  what  terms  to  ask  a  meeting  ?  on  what  grounds  ? 
and  where  ?  Not  at  John  Street,  for  it  would  never  do  to 
let  a  man  like  Bent  Pitman  know  your  real  address  ;  nor 
yet  at  Pitman's  house,  some  dreadful  place  in  Holloway, 
with  a  trapdoor  in  the  back  kitchen  ;  a  house  which  you 
might  enter  in  a  light  summer  overcoat  and  varnished 
boots,  to  come  forth  again  piece-meal  in  a  market-basket. 
That  was  the  drawback  of  a  really  efficient  accomplice, 
Morris  felt,  not  without  a  shudder.  "I  never  dreamed  I 
should  come  to  actually  covet-such  society,"  he  thought. 
And  then  a  brilliant  idea  struck  him.  Waterloo  Station,  a 
public  place,  yet  at  certain  hours  of  the  day  a  sohtary  ;  a 
place,  besides,  the  very  name  of  which  must  knock  upon  the 
heart  of  Pitman,  and  at  once  suggest  a  knowledge  of  the 
latest  of  his  guilty  secrets.  Mori'is  took  a  piece  of  paper 
and  sketched  his  advertisement. 

"  'WiLLi.\M  Bent  Pitiian,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye  of, 
he  will  hear  of  so:hething  to  his  advantage  at  the  far  end 
of  the  main  line  departure  platfoi'm,  Waterloo  Station,  2 
to  4  P.M.,  Sunday  next." 

Morris  reperused  this  literary  trifle  with  approbation. 

"  Terse,"  he  reflected.     "  Something  to  his  advantage  is 

not  strictly  true  ;  but  it's  taking  and  original,  and  a  man 

is  not   on  oath  in  an  advertisement.     All  that  I  require 

now  is  the  ready  cash  for  my  own  meals  and  for  the  ad- 

vei-tisement,  and — no,  I  can't  lavish  money  upon  John, 

but  I'll  give  him  some  more  papers.     How  to  raise  the 

wind?" 

14 


210  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

He  approached  liis  cabinet  of  signets,  and  the  collectoi 
suddenly  revolted  in  his  blood.  "  I  will  not ! "  he  cried, 
"  nothing  shall  induce  nie  to  massacre  my  collection — 
rather  theft !  "  And  dashing  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room, 
he  helped  himself  to  a  few  of  his  uncle's  curiosities :  a 
pair  of  Turkish  babooshes,  a  Smyrna  fan,  a  water- cooler, 
a  musket  guaranteed  to  have  been  seized  from  an  Ephesiau 
bandit,  and  a  pocketful  of  curious  but  incomplete  sea- 
shells. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WILLIAM  BENT  PITMAN  HEAKS  OF  SOMETHING  TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE. 

On  the  morning  of  Sunday,  William  Dent  Pitman  rose 
at  his  usual  houi-,  although  with  something  more  than  the 
usual  reluctance.  The  day  before  (it  should  be  explained) 
an  addition  had  been  made  to  his  family  in  the  person  of 
a  lodger.  Michael  Finsbury  had  acted  sponsor  in  the 
business,  and  guaranteed  the  weekly  bill ;  on  the  other 
hand,  no  doubt  with  a  spice  of  his  prevailing  jocularity, 
he  had  drawn  a  depressing  portrait  of  the  lodger's  char- 
acter. Mr.  Pitman  had  been  led  to  understand  his  guest 
was  not  good  company ;  he  had  approached  the  gentle- 
man with  fear,  and  had  rejoiced  to  find  himself  the  enter- 
tainer of  an  angel.  At  tea  he  had  been  vastly  pleased  ; 
till  hard  on  one  in  the  morning  he  had  sat  entranced  by 
eloquence  and  progressively  fortified  with  information  in 
the  studio  ;  and  now,  as  he  reviewed  over  his  toilet  the 
harmless  pleasures  of  the  evening,  the  future  smiled  upon 
him  with  revived  attractions.  "  Mr.  Finsbury  is,  indeed, 
an  acquisition,"  he  remarked  to  himself  ;  and  as  he  en- 
tered the  little  parlor,  where  the  table  was  already  laid  for 
breakfast,  the  cordiality  of  his  greeting  would  have  bene- 
fited an  acquaintanceship  already  old. 


212  THE  WKONO  nox. 

"lam  delighted  to  see  you,  sir" — these  were  his  ex- 
pressions — "  and  I  trust  you  have  slept  well." 

"  Accustomed  as  I  have  been  for  so  long  to  a  life  of 
almost  perpetual  change,"  rej^lied  the  guest,  "  the  dis- 
turbance so  often  complained  of  by  the  more  sedentary, 
as  attending  their  first  night  in  (what  is  called)  a  new  bed 
is  a  complaint  from  which  I  am  entirely  free." 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  the  drawing-master 
warmly.  "  But  I  see  I  have  interrupted  you  over  the 
paper." 

"  The  Sunday  paper  is  one  of  the  features  of  the  age," 
said  Mr.  Finsbury.  "  In  America,  I  am  told,  it  super- 
sedes all  other  literature,  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  nation 
finding  their  requirements  catered  for  ;  hundreds  of  col- 
umns will  be  occupied  with  interesting  details  of  the 
w'orld's  doings,  such  as  water-spouts,  elopements,  confla- 
grations, and  public  entertainments  ;  there  is  a  corner  for 
politics,  ladies'  work,  chess,  religion,  and  even  Hterature  ; 
and  a  few  spicj'  editorials  serve  to  direct  the  course  of 
public  thought.  It  is  difficult  to  estimate  the  part  played 
by  such  enormous  and  miscellaneous  repositories  in  the 
education  of  the  peoj^le.  But  this  (though  interesting  in 
itself)  partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  digression  ;  and  what  I 
was  about  to  ask  you  was  this :  Are  you  yourself  a  student 
of  the  daily  press  ?  " 

"  There  is  not  much  in  the  papers  to  interest  an  artist," 
returned  Pitman. 

"In    that  case,"  resumed  Joseph,   "an    advertisement 


PITMAN    HEARS    OF    SOMETHIISG    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.    213 

whicli  has  appeared  the  last  two  days  in  vai'ious  journals, 
and  reappears  this  morning,  may  possibly  have  failed  to 
catch  your  eye.  The  name,  with  a  trifling  variation,  beara 
a  strong  resemblance  to  your  own.  Ah,  here  it  is.  If 
you  please,  I  will  read  it  to  you. 

"  '  William  Bent  Pitman,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye  of, 
he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  ai)v.\ntage  at  the  far  end 
of  the  main  line  departure  platform,  Waterloo  Station,  2 
to  4  P.M.  to-day.'" 

"  Is  that  in  print  ?  "  cried  Pitman.  "  Let  me  see  it ! 
Bent  ?  It  must  be  Dent !  Something  to  my  advantage  ? 
Mr.  Finsbuiy,  excuse  me  offering  a  word  of  caution ;  I 
am  aware  how  strangely  this  must  sound  in  your  ears, 
but  there  are  domestic  reasons  why  this  little  circum- 
stance might  perhaps  be  better  kept  between  ourselves. 
Mrs.  Pitman — my  dear  sir,  I  assure  you  there  is  nothing 
dishonorable  in  my  secrecy  ;  the  reasons  are  domestic, 
merely  domestic ;  and  I  may  set  your  conscience  at 
rest  when  I  assure  you  all  the  circumstances  are 
known  to  our  common  friend,  your  excellent  nephew, 
Mr.  Michael,  who  has  not  withdrawn  from  me  his  es- 
teem." 

"  A  word  is  enough,  Mr.  Pitman,"  said  Joseph,  with  one 
of  his  oriental  reverences. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  drawing-master  found  Michael 
in  bed  and  reading  a  book,  the  picture  of  good-humor  and 
repose. 

"Hillo,    Pitman,"   he    said,    laying    down    his    book. 


214  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

"what  brings  you  here  at  this  inclement  hour?  Ought 
to  be  in  church,  my  boy  !  " 

"  I  have  little  thought  of  church  to-day,  Mr.  Finsburj'," 
said  the  drawing-master.  "  I  am  on  the  brink  of  some- 
thing new,  sir."     And  he  presented  the  advertisement. 

"  Why,  what  is  this  ?  "  cried  Michael,  sitting  suddenly 
up.  He  studied  it  for  half  a  minute  with  a  frown.  "  Pit- 
man, I  don't  care  about  this  document  a  particle,"  said 
he. 

"  It  will  have  to  be  attended  to,  however,"  said  Pit- 
man. 

"I  thought  you'd  had  enough  of  Waterloo,"  returned 
the  lawyer.  "  Have  you  started  a  morbid  craving  ? 
You've  never  been  yourself  anyway  since  you  lost  that 
beard.    I  believe  now  it  was  where  you  kept  your  senses." 

"  Mr.  Finsburj^"  said  the  drawing-master,  "  I  have 
tried  to  reason  this  matter  out,  and,  with  your  permission, 
I  should  like  to  lay  before  you  the  results." 

"Fire  away,"  said  Michael  ;  "but  please.  Pitman,  re- 
member it's  Sunday,  and  let's  have  no  bad  language." 

"  There  are  three  views  open  to  us,"  began  Pitman. 
*'  First,  this  may  be  connected  with  the  barrel ;  second,  it 
may  be  connected  with  ]VIr.  Semitopolis'  statue  ;  and 
third,  it  may  be  from  my  wife's  brother,  who  went  to 
Australia.  In  the  first  case,  which  is  of  course  possible,  I 
confess  the  matter  would  be  best  allowed  to  drop." 

"The  court  is  with  you  there,  Brother  Pitman,"  said 
Michael. 


PITMAN    HEAKS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.    215 

"  In  the  second,"  continued  the  other,  "it  is  plainly 
my  duty  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  for  the  recovery  of 
the  lost  antique." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  Semitopolis  has  come  down  like  a 
trump  ;  he  has  pocketed  the  loss  and  left  you  the  profit. 
What  more  would  you  have  ?  "  inquired  the  lawyer. 

"  I  conceive,  sir,  under  correction,  that  Mr.  Semitopolis' 
generosity  binds  me  to  even  greater  exertion,"  said  the 
drawing-master.  "  The  whole  business  was  unfortunate  ; 
it  was — I  need  not  disguise  it  from  you — it  was  illegal 
from  the  first :  the  more  reason  that  I  should  try  to  be- 
have like  a  gentleman,"  concluded  Pitman,  flushing. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that,"  returned  the  lawyer. 
"  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  should  like  to  try  to  behave 
like  a  gentleman  myself  ;  only  it's  such  a  one-sided  busi- 
ness, with  the  world  and  the  legal  profession  as  they 
are." 

"  Then,  in  the  third,"  resumed  the  drawing-master,  "  if 
it's  Uncle  Tim,  of  course,  our  fortune's  made." 

"  It's  not  Uncle  Tim,  though,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Have  you  observed  that  very  remarkable  expression  : 
Something  to  his  advantage?"  inquired  Pitman,  shrewdly. 

"You  innocent  mutton,"  said  Michael,  "  it's  the  seediest 
commonplace  in  the  English  language,  and  only  proves 
the  advertiser  is  an  ass.  Let  me  demolish  your  house  of 
cards  for  you  at  once.  Would  Uncle  Tim  make  that 
blunder  in  your  name  ?  —  in  itself,  the  blunder  is  de- 
licious, a  huge  improvement  on  the  gross  reality,  and  I 


216  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

mean  to  adopt  it  in  the  future  ;  but  is  it  like  Uncle 
Tim  ?  " 

"No,  it's  not  like  him,"  Pitman  admitted.  "But  his 
mind  may  have  become  unhinged  at  Ballarat." 

"If  YOU  come  to  that,  Pitman,"  said  Michael,  '•  the 
advertiser  may  be  Queen  Victoria,  fired  with  the  desire 
to  make  a  duke  of  you.  I  put  it  to  yourself  if  that's  prob- 
able ;  and  yet  its  not  against  the  laws  of  nature.  But  we 
sit  here  to  consider  probabilities ;  and  with  your  genteel 
permission,  I  eliminate  her  Majesty  and  Uncle  Tim  on  the 
threshold.  To  proceed,  we  have  yovir  second  idea,  that 
this  has  some  connection  with  the  statue.  Possible  ;  but 
in  that  case  who  is  the  advertiser?  Not  Ricardi,  for  he 
knows  your  address ;  not  the  person  who  got  the  box,  for 
he  doesn't  know  your  name.  The  van-man,  I  hear  you 
suggest,  in  a  lucid  interval.  He  might  have  got  your 
name,  and  got  it  incorrectly,  at  the  station  ;  and  he  might 
have  failed  to  get  your  address.  I  grant  the  van-man. 
But  a  question  :  Do  you  really  wish  to  meet  the  van- 
man  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  "  asked  Pitman. 

"If  he  wants  to  meet  you,"  replied  Michael,  "observe 
this  :  It  is  because  he  has  found  his  address-book,  has 
been  to  the  house  that  got  the  statue,  and — mark  my 
words ! — is  moving  at  the  instigation  of  the  mui'derer." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  so,"  said  Pitman  ;  "  but 
I  still  consider  it  my  duty  to  Mr.  Semitopolis     .     .     ." 

"Pitman,"   interrupted    Michael,    "this   will   not   do. 


PITMAN   HEAKS    OF    SOMETHING    TO   HIS    ADVANTAGE.     217 

Don't  seek  to  impose  on  your  legal  adviser  ;  clon't  try  to 
pass  yourself  off  for  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  for  that  is 
not  your  line.  Come,  I  wager  a  dinner  I  can  read  your 
thoughts.     You  still  believe  it's  Uncle  Tim." 

"  IVIr.  Finsbur}',"  said  the  drawing-master,  coloring, 
"  you  are  not  a  man  in  narrow  circumstances,  and  you 
have  no  family.  Guendolen  is  growing  up,  a  very  promis- 
ing girl — she  was  confirmed  this  year  ;  and  I  think  you 
will  be  able  to  enter  into  my  feelings  as  a  parent,  when  I 
tell  you  she  is  quite  ignorant  of  dancing.  The  boys  are  at 
the  board-school,  which  is  all  very  well  in  its  way ;  at  least, 
I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  criticise  the  institutions 
of  my  native  land.  But  I  had  fondly  hoped  that  Harold 
might  become  a  professional  musician  ;  and  little  Otho 
shows  a  quite  i-emarkable  vocation  for  the  Church.  I  am 
not  exactly  an  ambitious  man     .     .     ." 

"Well,  well,"  interrupted  Michael.  "Be  exphcit ;  you 
think  it's  Uncle  Tim." 

"It  might  be  Uncle  Tim,"  insisted  Pitman,  "and  if  it 
were,  and  I  neglected  the  occasion,  how  could  I  ever  look 
my  children  in  the  face?  I  do  not  refer  to  Airs.  Pit- 
man    .     .     ." 

"No,  you  never  do,"  said  Michael. 

"...  but  in  the  case  of  her  own  brother  return- 
ing from  Ballarat     .     .     ."  continued  Pitman. 

".  .  .  with  his  mind  unhinged,"  put  in  the  law- 
yer. 

**.     .     .     returning  from   Ballarat  with  a  large  fort- 


218  THE   WRONG    BOX. 

une,  her  impatience  ma,y  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
described,"  concluded  Pitman. 

"All  right,"  said  Michael,  "be  it  so.  And  what  do  you 
propose  to  do?" 

"I  am  going  to  Waterloo,"  said  Pitman,  "in  disguise." 

"  All  by  your  little  self  ?"  inquired  the  lawyer.  "  Well, 
I  hope  you  think  it  safe.  Mind  and  send  me  word  from 
the  police  cells." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  had  ventured  to  hope — perhaps 
you  might  be  induced  to — to  make  one  of  us,"  faltered 
Pitman. 

"  Disguise  myself  on  Sunday  ?  "  cried  Michael.  "  How 
little  you  understand  my  princij^les !  " 

"  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  have  no  means  of  showing  you  my 
gratitude;  but  let  me  ask  you  one  question,"  said  Pilman. 
"  If  I  were  a  very  rich  client,  would  you  not  take  the 
risk?" 

"  Diamond,  Diamond,  you  know  not  what  you  do  !  " 
cried  Michael.  "  Why,  man,  do  you  suppose  I  make  a 
practice  of  cutting  about  London  with  my  clients  in  dis- 
guise ?  Do  you  suppose  money  would  induce  me  to  touch 
this  business  with  a  stick?  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor, 
it  would  not.  But  I  own  I  have  a  real  curiosity  to  see 
how  you  conduct  this  interview — that  tempts  me ;  it 
tempts  me,  Pitman,  more  than  gold — it  should  be  exqui- 
sitely rich."  And  suddenly  IVIichael  laughed.  "Well,  Pit- 
man," said  he,  "  have  all  the  truck  ready  in  the  studia 
I'll  go." 


PITMAN    HEARS    UF    SOMETHING    TO    IIIS    ADVANTAGE.     219 

About  twenty  minutes  after  two,  on  this  eventful  day, 
the  vast  and  gloomy  shed  of  Waterloo  lay,  like  the  temple 
of  a  dead  religion,  silent  and  deserted.  Here  and  there, 
at  one  of  the  jDlatforms,  a  train  lay  becalmed  ;  here  and 
there  a  wandering  footfall  echoed  ;  the  cab-horses  outside 
stamped  with  startling  reverberations  on  the  stones  :  or 
from  the  neighboring  wilderness  of  railway  an  engine 
snorted  forth  a  whistle.  The  main-line  departure  plat- 
form slumbered  like  the  rest ;  the  booking-hutches  closed  ; 
the  backs  of  Mr.  Haggard's  novels,  with  which  upon  a 
week-day  the  book-stall  shines  emblazoned,  discreetly  hid- 
den behind  dingy  shutters  ;  the  rare  officials,  undisguis- 
edly  somnambulant ;  and  the  customary  loiterers,  even  to 
the  middle-aged  woman  with  the  ulster  and  the  dandbag, 
fled  to  more  congenial  scenes.  As  in  the  inmost  dells  of 
some  small  tropic  island  the  throbbing  of  the  ocean  lin- 
gers, so  here  a  faint  pervading  hum  and  trepidation  told 
in  every  corner  of  surrounding  London. 

At  the  hour  already  named,  persons  acquainted  with 
John  Dickson,  of  Ballarat,  and  Ezra  Thomas,  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  would  have  been  cheered  to  behold 
them  enter  through  the  booking-office. 

"What  names  are  we  to  take  ?  "  inquii-ed  the  latter,  anx- 
iously adjusting  the  window-glass  spectacles  which  he 
had  been  suffered  on  this  occasion  to  assume. 

"There's  no  choice  for  you,  my  boy,"  returned  Michael. 
"  Bent  Pitman  or  nothing.  As  for  me,  I  think  I  look  as 
if  I  might  be  called  Appleby  ;  something  agreeably  old- 


220  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

world  about  Appleby — breathes  of  Devonshire  cider. 
Talking  of  which,  suppose  you  wet  your  whistle  ?  the  in- 
terview is  likely  to  be  trying." 

"  I  think  I'll  wait  till  afterward,"  returned  Pitman,  "  on 
the  whole,  I  think  I'll  wait  till  the  thing's  over.  I  don't 
know  if  it  strikes  you  as  it  does  me  ;  but  the  place  seems 
deserted  and  silent,  Mr.  Finsbury,  and  filled  with  very 
singular  echoes." 

"Kind  of  Jack-in-the-box  feeling ?  "  inquired  Michael, 
"  as  if  all  these  empty  trains  might  be  filled  with  police- 
men waiting  for  a  signal?  and  Sir  Charles  Warren 
perched  among  the  girders  with  a  silver  whistle  to  his 
lips?     It's  guilt,  Pitman." 

In  this  uneasy  frame  of  mind  they  walked  nearly  the 
whole  length  of  the  departure  platform,  and  at  the 
western  extremity  became  aware  of  a  slender  figure 
standing  backed  against  a  pillar.  The  figure  was  plainly 
sunk  into  a  deep  abstraction  ;  he  was  not  aware  of  their 
approach,  but  gazed  far  abroad  over  the  sunlit  station. 
Michael  stopped. 

"Holloa  ! "  said  he,  "  can  that  be  your  advertiser  ?  If  so, 
I'm  done  with  it."  And  then,  on  second  thoughts  :  "Not 
so,  either,"  he  resumed,  more  cheerfully.  "  Here,  turn 
your  back  a  moment.     So.     Give  me  the  specs." 

"  But  you  agreed  I  was  to  have  them,"  protested  Pit- 
man. 

"  Ah,  but  that  man  knows  me,"  said  Michael. 

"  Does  he  ?  what's  his  name  ?  "  cried  Pitman. 


PITMAN    HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.    221 

"  Oh,  he  took  me  into  his  confidence,"  returned  the 
lawyer.  "  But  I  may  say  one  thing :  If  he's  your  ad- 
vertiser (and  he  may  be,  for  he  seems  to  have  been 
seized  with  criminal  lunacy)  you  can  go  ahead  with 
a  clear  conscience,  for  I  hold  him  in  the  hollow  of  my 
hand." 

The  change  effected,  and  Pitman  comforted  with  this 
good  news,  the  pair  drew  near  to  Morris. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  Mr.  William  Bent  Pitman  ?  "  in- 
quu'ed  the  drawing-master.      "  I  am  he." 

Morris  raised  his  head.  He  saw  before  him,  in  the 
speaker,  a  person  of  almost  indescribable  insignificance, 
in  white  spats  and  a  shirt  cut  indecently  low.  A  little  be- 
hind a  second  and  more  burly  figure  offered  little  to 
criticism,  except  ulster,  whiskers,  spectacles,  and  deer- 
stalker hat.  Since  he  had  decided  to  call  up  devils  from 
the  underworld  of  London,  Morris  had  pondered  deeply 
on  the  probabilities  of  their  appearance.  His  first  emo- 
tion, like  that  of  Charoba  when  she  beheld  the  sea,  was 
one  of  disappointment ;  his  second  did  more  justice  to 
the  case.  Never  before  had  he  seen  a  couple  dressed  like 
these  ;  he  had  struck  a  new  stratum. 

"I  must  speak  with  you  alone,"  said  he. 

"You  need  not  mind  Mr.  Appleby,"  returned  Pitman. 
"He  knows  all." 

"  All  ?  Do  you  know  what  I  am  here  to  speak  of  ?  "  in- 
quired Morris.     "The  barrel." 

Pitman  turned  pale,  but  it  was  with  manly  indignation. 


222  TJiE  ^vKo^rG  box. 

"You  are  the  man!"  he  cricil.     "Ynn  vory  wicked  per« 
son  !  " 

"Am  I  to  speak  before  him  ?"  asked  Morris,  disregard- 
ing these  severe  expressions. 

"  He  has  been  present  througliout,"  said  Pitman.  "He 
opened  the  barrel  ;  your  guilty  secret  is  already  known  to 
him,  as  well  as  to  your  Maker  and  myself." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Morris,  "what  have  you  done  with 
the  money  ?  " 

"I  know  nothing  about  any  money,"  said  Pitman. 

"You  needn't  try  that  on,"  said  Morris.  "I  have 
tracked  you  down  ;  you  came  to  the  station  saciilegiously 
disguised  as  a  clergyman,  procured  my  barrel,  opened  it, 
rifled  the  body,  and  cashed  the  bill.  I  have  been  to  the 
bank,  I  tell  you !  I  have  followed  you  step  by  step,  and 
your  denials  are  childish  and  absurd." 

"Come,  come,  Morris,  keep  your  temper,"  said  Mr. 
Appleby. 

"  Michael ! "  cried  Morris,  "  Michael  here  too !  " 

"Here  too,"  echoed  the  lawyer,  "here  and  everywhere, 
my  good  fellow  ;  every  step  you  take  is  counted  ;  trained 
detectives  follow  yoii  like  your  shadow ;  they  report 
to  me  every  three-quarters  of  an  hour  ;  no  expense  is 
spared." 

Morris's  face  took  on  a  hue  of  dirty  gray.  "  Well,  I 
don't  care  ;  I  have  the  less  resen^e  to  keep,"  he  cried. 
"  That  man  cashed  my  bill ;  it's  a  theft,  and  I  want  the 
money  back." 


PITMAN    HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.     223 

"Do  you  think  I  would  lie  to  you,  Morris?"  asked 
Michael. 

" I  don't  know,"  said  his  cousin.     "I  want  my  money." 

"  It  was  I  alone  who  touched  the  body,"  began  Michael. 

"  You  ?  ^Michael !  "  cried  Morris,  starting  back.  "  Then 
why  haven't  you  declared  the  death  ?  " 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean?  "'  asked  Michael. 

"Am  I  mad?  or  are  you  ?  "  cried  Morris. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  Pitman,"  said  Michael. 

The  three  men  stared  at  each  other,  wild-eyed. 

"This  is  dreadful,"  said  Morris,  "dreadful.  I  do  not 
understand  one  word  that  is  addressed  to  me." 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  no  more  do  I,"  said 
Michael. 

"  And  in  God's  name,  why  whiskers  ? "  cried  Morris, 
pointing  in  a  ghastly  manner  at  his  cousin.  "  Does  my 
brain  reel  ?     How  whiskers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  a  matter  of  detail,"  said  Michael. 

Theis  was  another  silence,  dui-ing  which  Morris  ap- 
peared to  himself  to  be  shot  in  a  trapeze  as  high  as  St. 
Paul's,  ^.nd  as  low  as  Baker  Street  Station. 

"Le-i  us  recapitulate,"  said  Michael,  "unless  it's  really 
a  dream,  in  which  case  I  wish  Teena  would  call  me  for 
breakfasit.  My  friend  Pitman,  here,  received  a  barrel 
which,  i!;  now  appears,  was  meant  for  you.  The  barrel 
contained  the  body  of  a  man.  How  or  why  you  killed 
him     .     .     ." 

"  I  lift^er  laid  a  hand  on  him,"  protested  Morris.     "This 


22i  TIIK    WUONG    BOX. 

is  what  I  have  dreaded  all  along.  But  think,  Michael  1 
I'm  not  that  kind  of  man  ;  with  all  my  faults,  I  wouldn't 
touch  a  hair  of  anybody's  head,  and  it  was  all  dead  loss  to 
me.     He  got  killed  iu  that  vile  accident." 

Suddenly  Michael  was  seized  by  mirth  so  prolonged 
and  excessive  that  his  companions  supposed  beyond  a 
doubt  his  reason  had  deserted  him.  Again  and  again  he 
struggled  to  compose  himself,  and  again  and  again 
laughter  overwhelmed  him  like  a  tide.  In  all  this  mad- 
dening interview  there  had  been  no  more  spectral  feature 
than  this  of  Michael's  merriment  ;  and  Pitman  and  Mor- 
ris, drawn  together  by  the  common  fear,  exchanged  glances 
of  anxiety. 

"  Morris,"  gasped  the  lawyer,  when  he  was  at  last  able 
to  articulate,  "  hold  on,  I  see  it  aU  now.  I  can  make  it  all 
clear  in  one  word.  Here's  the  key  :  /  never  guessed  it  was 
Uncle  Joseph  till  this  moment.''* 

This  remark  produced  an  instant  lightening  of  the  ten- 
sion for  Morris  ;  for  Pitman,  it  quenched  the  last  I'ay  of 
hope  and  daylight.  Uncle  Joseph,  whom  he  had  left  an 
hour  ago  in  Norfolk  Street,  pasting  newspaper  cuttings  ? — 
it  ? — the  dead  body  ? — then  who  was  he.  Pitman  ?  and 
was  this  Waterloo  Station  or  Colnev  Hatch  ? 

"  To  be  sure  !  "  cried  Morris  ;  "  it  was  badly  smashed, 
I  know.  How  stupid  not  to  think  of  that.  Why,  then,  all's 
clear;  and,  my  dear  Michael,  I'll  tell  you  what — we're 
saved,  both  saved.  You  get  the  tontine — I  don't  grudge  it 
you  the  least— and  I  get  the  leather  business,  which  is 


PITMAN    HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.    22f» 

really  beginning  to  look  up.  Declare  tlie  death  at  once, 
don't  mind  me  in  the  smallest,  don't  consider  me  ;  de- 
clare the  death,  and  we're  all  right." 

"Ah,  but  I  can't  declare  it," said  Michael. 

"Why  not?"  cried  Morris. 

"I  can't  produce  the  corpus,  Morris.  I've  lost  it,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  ejaculated  the  leather  merchant.  "  How 
is  this?     It's  not  possible.     I  lost  it." 

"  Well,  I've  lost  it  too,  my  son,"  said  Michael,  with  ex- 
treme serenity.  "  Not  recognizing  it,  you  see,  and  sus- 
pecting something  irregular  in  its  origin,  I  got  rid  of — 
what  shall  we  say? — got  rid  of  the  proceeds  at  once." 

"You  got  rid  of  the  body?  What  made  you  do  that?  " 
wailed  Morris.  "  But  you  can  get  it  again?  You  know 
where  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  did,  Morris,  and  you  may  believe  me  there, 
for  it  would  be  a  small  sum  in  my  pocket ;  but  the  fact  is, 
I  don't,"  said  Michael. 

"Good  Lord,"  said  Morris,  addressing  heaven  and 
earth,  "good  Lord,  I've  lost  the  leather  business." 

Michael  was  once  more  shaken  with  laughter. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh,  you  fool  ?"  cried  his  cousin,  "  you 

lose  more  than  I.     You've  bungled  it  worse  than  even  I 

did.     If  you  had  a  spark  of  feeling,  you  would  be  shaking 

in  your  boots  with  vexation.     But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing — 

I'll  have  that  eight  hundred  pound — I'll  have  that  and  go 

to  Swan  Eiver — that's  mine,  anyway,  and  your  friend  must 
15 


220  Tin:  WKONG  box. 

have  forged  to  cash  it.  Give  me  the  eight  hundrecl,  here, 
npou  this  platform,  or  I  go  straight  to  Scotland  Yard  and 
turn  the  whole  disreputable  story  inside  out." 

"Morris,"  said  INlichael,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  "hear  reason.  It  wasn't  us,  it  was  the  other 
man.     We  never  even  searched  the  body." 

"  The  other  man?"  rej^eated  Morris. 

"  Yes,  the  other  man.  "We  palmed  Uncle  Joseph  oft 
upon  another  man,"  said  Michael. 

"You  what?  You  palmed  him  off?  That's  surely  a 
singular  expression,"  said  Morris. 

"  Yes,  palm6d  him  off  for  a  piano,"  said  Michael,  with 
perfect  simplicity.  "  Remarkably  full,  rich  tone,"  he 
added. 

Morris  carried  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  looked  at  it ;  it 
was  wet  with  sweat.     "  Fever,"  said  he. 

"  No,  it  was  a  Broadwood  grand,"  said  Michael.  "  Pit- 
man here  will  tell  you  if  it  was  genuine  or  not." 

"Eh?  Oh  !  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  it  was  a  genuine  Broad- 
wood;  I  have  played  upon  it  several  times  myself,"  said 
Pitman.     "The  three-letter  E  was  broken." 

"  Don't  say  anything  more  about  pianos,"  said  Morris, 
with  a  strong  shudder  ;  "I'm  not  the  man  I  used  to  be  ! 
This — this  other  man — let's  come  to  him,  if  I  can  only 
manage  to  follow.  AVho  is  he  ?  Where  can  I  get  hold  of 
him?" 

"Ah,  that's  the  rub,"  said  Michaeh  "He's  been  in 
possession  of  the  desired  article,  let  me  see — since  Wednes- 


PITMAN    HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.    227 

day,  about  four  o'clock,  and  is  now,  I  should  imagine,  on 
his  way  to  the  isles  of  Javan  and  Godire." 

"Michael,"  said  Morris,  pleadingly,  "I  am  in  a  very 
■weak  state,  and  I  beg  your  consideration  for  a  kinsman. 
Say  it  slowly  again,  and  be  sure  you  are  correct.  When 
did  he  get  it?" 

Michael  repeated  his  statement. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  worst  thing  yet,"  said  Morris,  drawing 
in  his  breath. 

"  What  is  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  Even  the  dates  are  sheer  nonsense,"  said  the  leather 
merchant.  "  The  bill  was  cashed  on  Tuesday.  There's 
not  a  gleam  of  reason  in  the  whole  transaction." 

A  young  gentleman,  who  had  passed  the  trio  and  sud- 
denly started  and  turned  back,  at  this  moment  laid  a 
heaw  hand  on  Michael's  shoulder. 

"  Aha,  so  this  is  Mi*.  Dickson  ?  "  said  he. 

The  trump  of  judgment  could  scarce  have  rung  with  a 
more  dreadful  note  in  the  ears  of  Pitman  and  the  lawyer. 
To  Morris  this  erroneous  name  seemed  a  legitimate  enough 
continuation  of  the  nightmare  in  which  he  had  so  long 
been  wandering.  And  when  Michael,  with  his  brand-new 
bushy  whiskers,  broke  from  the  grasp  of  the  stranger  and 
turned  to  run,  and  the  weird  little  shaven  creature  in 
the  low-necked  shirt  followed  his  examj^le  with  a  bird- 
like screech,  and  the  stranger  (finding  the  rest  of  his 
prey  escape  him)  pounced  with  a  rude  grasp  on  Mor- 
ris himself,  that    gentleman's   frame   of  mind   might   be 


228  THE    WRONO    BOX. 

veiy  nearly  expressed  in  the  colloquial  phrase  .  "  I  told 
you  so ! " 

"  I  have  one  of  the  gang,"  said  Gideon  Forsyth. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  Morris,  dully. 

"  Oh,  I  will  make  you  understand,"  returned  Gideon, 
grimly. 

"  You  will  be  a  good  friend  to  me  if  you  can  make  me 
understand  anything,"  cried  Morris,  with  a  sudden  energy 
of  conviction. 

"  I  don't  know  you  personally,  do  I  ?  "  continued  Gideon, 
examining  his  unresisting  prisoner.  "  Never  mind,  I  know 
your  friends.     They  are  your  friends,  are  they  not?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Morris. 

"  You  had  possibly  something  to  do  with  a  piano  ?  " 
suggested  Gideon. 

"  A  piano  !  "  cried  Morris,  convulsively  clasping  Gideon 
by  the  arm.  "  Then  youVe  the  other  man  !  Where  is  it? 
Where  is  the  body  ?     And  did  you  cash  the  draft  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  body  ?  This  is  very  strange,"  mused 
Gideon.     "  Do  you  want  the  body  ?  " 

"  Want  it  ?  "  cried  Morris.  "  My  whole  fortune  depends 
upon  it !     I  lost  it.     Where  is  it  ?     Take  me  to  it !  " 

"  Oh,  you  want  it,  do  you  ?  And  the  other  man,  Dick- 
son— does  he  want  it  ?  "  inquired  Gideon. 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  Dickson  ?  Oh,  Michael  Fins- 
bury  !  Why,  of  course  he  does  !  He  lost  it  too.  If  he 
had  it  he'd  have  won  the  tontine  to-morrow." 

"  Michael  Finsbury  !     Not  the  solicitor  ?  "  cried  Gideon. 


PITMAN   HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO    HIS    ADVANTAGE.     229 

"Yes,  the  solicitor,"  said  Morris.  "But  where  is  the 
body  ?  " 

"  Then  that  is  why  he  sent  the  brief  !  "What  is  Mr. 
Finsbury's  private  address  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

"233  I\ing's  Koad.  What  brief?  Where  are  you  go- 
ing? Where  is  the  body?"  cried  Monis,  clinging  to  Gid- 
eon's arm. 

"  I  have  lost  it  myself,"  returned  Gideon,  and  ran  out 
of  the  station. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE. 

Moms  returned  from  Waterloo  in  a  frame  of  mind  that 
baffles  description.  He  was  a  modest  man  ;  he  had  never 
conceived  an  overweening  notion  of  his  own  powers ;  he 
knew  himself  unfit  to  write  a  book,  turn  a  table  napkin- 
ring,  entertain  a  Christmas  party  with  legerdemain — grap- 
ple (in  short)  any  of  those  conspicuous  accomplishments 
that  are  usually  classed  under  the  head  of  genius.  He 
knew — he  admitted — his  parts  to  be  pedestrian,  but  he 
had  considered  them  (until  quite  lately)  full}'  equal  to  the 
demands  of  hfe.  And  to-day  he  owned  himself  defeated  : 
life  had  the  upper  hand ;  if  there  had  been  any  means  of 
flight  or  place  to  flee  to,  if  the  world  had  been  so  ordered 
that  a  man  could  leave  it  like  a  place  of  entertainment, 
Morris  would  have  instantly  resigned  all  further  claim  on 
its  rewards  and  pleasures,  and,  with  inexpressible  content- 
ment, ceased  to  be.  As  it  was,  one  aim  shone  before  him  : 
be  could  get  home.  Even  as  the  sick  dog  crawls  under 
the  sofa,  Morris  could  shut  the  door  of  John  Street  and 
be  alone. 

The  dusk  was  falling  when  ho  drew  near  this  place  of 


THE    KKTUKN    OF   THE    GREAT   VANCE.  231 

refuge  ;  and  the  first  tbiug  that  met  his  eyes  was  the  fig- 
ure of  a  man  upon  the  step,  alternately  plucking  at  the 
bell-handle  and  pounding  on  the  panels.  The  man  had 
no  hat,  his  clothes  were  hideous  with  filth,  he  had  the  air 
of  a  hop-picker.     Yet  Morris  knew  him  ;  it  was  John. 

The  first  impulse  of  flight  was  succeeded,  in  the  elder 
brother's  bosom,  by  the  empty  quiescence  of  despair. 
"  What  does  it  matter  now  ?  "  he  thought,  and  drawing 
forth  his  latch-key  ascended  the  steps. 

John  turned  about ;  his  face  was  ghastly  with  weariness, 
and  dirt  and  fury  ;  and  as  he  recognized  the  head  of  his 
famOy,  he  drew  in  a  long  rasping  breath,  and  his  eyes 
glittered. 

"  Open  that  door,"  he  said,  standing  back. 

"I  am  going  to,"  said  Morris,  and  added,  mentally, 
"  he  looks  like  murder  !  " 

The  brothers  passed  into  the  hall,  the  door  closed  be- 
hind them  ;  and  suddenly  John  seized  Morris  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat.  "  You 
mangy  Httle  cad,"  he  said,  *'  I'd  serve  you  right  to  smash 
your  skull ! "  And  shook  him  again,  so  that  his  teeth 
rattled  and  his  head  smote  upon  the  wall. 

"Don't  be  violent,  Johnny,"  said  Morris.  "It  can't 
do  any  good  now." 

"  Shut  your  mouth,"  said  John,  "  your  time's  come  to 
listen." 

He  strode  into  the  dining-room,  fell  into  the  easy-chair, 
and  taking  off  one  of  his  burst  walking-shoes,  nursed  for 


232  TIIJC    WKONG    B'JX. 

a  while  his  foot  Hko  one  in  agony,  "  I'm  lame  for  life," 
he  said.     "  What  is  there  for  dinner  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Johnny,"  said  Morris, 

"Nothing?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  inquired  the 
Great  Vance,     "  Don't  set  up  your  chat  to  me  !  " 

"I  mean  simply  nothing,"  said  his  brother.  "I  have 
nothing  to  eat,  and  nothing  to  buy  it  with.  I've  only  had 
a  cup  of  tea  and  a  sandwich  all  this  day  myself." 

"Only  a  sandwich?"  sneered  Vance.  "I  suppose 
you're  going  to  complain  next.  But  you  had  better  take 
care  :  I've  had  all  I  mean  to  take  ;  and  I  can  tell  you  what 
it  is,  I  mean  to  dine  and  to  dine  well.  Take  your  signets 
and  sell  them," 

"I  can't  to-day,"  objected  Morris,  "it's  Sunday." 

"  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  dine ! "  cried  the  younger 
brother. 

"  But  if  it's  not  possible,  Johnny  ?  "  pleaded  the  other. 

"You  nincompoop!"  cried  Vance.  "Ain't  we  house- 
holders ?  Don't  they  know  us  at  that  hotel  where  Uncle 
Parker  used  to  come?  Be  off  with  you  ;  and  if  you  ain't 
back  in  half  an  hour,  and  if  the  dinner  ain't  good,  first 
I'll  lick  you  till  you  don't  want  to  breathe,  and  then  I'll  go 
straight  to  the  poHce  and  blow  the  gaff.  Do  you  under- 
stand that,  Morris  Finsbury  ?  Because  if  you  do  you  had 
better  jump." 

The  idea  smiled  even  upon  the  Avretched  Morris,  who 
was  sick  with  famine.  He  sped  upon  his  errand,  and  re- 
turned to  find  John  still  nursing  his  foot  in  the  arm-chair. 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    GREAT    VANCE.  233 

"What  woTild  you  like  to  drink,  Johnny?"  he  inquired, 
soothingly. 

"  Fizz,"  said  John.  "  Some  of  the  poppy  stuff  from  the 
end  bin  ;  a  bottle  of  the  old  port  that  Michael  liked,  to 
follow  ;  and  see  and  don't  shake  the  port.  And  look  here, 
light  the  fire — and  the  gas,  and  draw  down  the  blinds ; 
it's  cold  and  it's  getting  dark.  And  then  you  can  lay  the 
cloth.  And,  I  say — here,  you !  bring  me  down  some 
clothes." 

The  room  looked  comparatively  habitable  by  the  time 
the  dinner  came  ;  and  the  dinner  itself  was  good  :  strong 
gravy  soup,  filets  of  sole,  mutton  chops  and  tomato  sauce, 
roast  beef  done  rare  with  roast  potatoes,  cabinet  pudding, 
a  piece  of  Chester  cheese,  and  some  early  celery :  a  meal 
uncompromisingly  British,  but  supporting. 

"  Thank  God ! "  said  John,  his  nostrils  sniffing  wide, 
surprised  by  joy  into  the  unwonted  formality  of  grace. 
"  Now  I'm  going  to  take  this  chair  with  my  back  to  the 
fire — there's  been  a  strong  frost  these  two  last  nights, 
and  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  bones  ;  the  celery  will  be  just 
the  ticket — I'm  going  to  sit  here,  and  you  are  going  to 
stand  there,  Morris  Finsbury,  and  play  butler." 

"But,  Johnny,  I'm  so  hungry  myself,"  pleaded  Morris. 

"  You  can  have  what  I  leave,"  said  Vance.  "  You're  just 
beginning  to  pay  your  score,  my  daisy ;  I  owe  you  one 
ITound  ten  ;  don't  you  rouse  the  British  lion  !  "  There 
was  something  indescribably  menacing  in  the  face  and 
voice  of  the  Great  Vance  as  he  uttered  these  words,  at 


234  THi:  WKONO  box. 

which  the  soul  of  Morris  withered.  "  There  !  "  resumed 
the  feaster,  "  give  us  a  glass  of  the  fizz  to  start  with. 
Gravy  soup !  And  I  thought  I  didu't  Hke  gravy  soup  ! 
Do  you  know  how  I  got  here  ?  "  he  asked,  with  another 
explosion  of  wrath. 

"  No,  Johnny,  how  could  I  ? "  said  the  obsequious 
Morris. 

"I  walked  on  my  ten  toes!"  cried  John;  "tramped 
the  whole  way  from  Browndean  ;  and  begged  !  I  would 
like  to  see  you  beg.  It's  not  so  easy  as  you  might  sup- 
pose. I  played  it  on  being  a  shipwrecked  mariner  from 
Blyth  ;  I  don't  know  where  Blyth  is,  do  you  ?  but  I  thought 
it  sounded  natural.  I  begged  from  a  little  beast  of  a 
school-boy,  and  he  forked  out  a  bit  of  twine,  and  asked 
me  to  make  a  clove-hitch  ;  I  did,  too,  I  know  I  did,  but  he 
said  it  wasn't,  he  said  it  was  a  granny's  knot,  and  I  was  a 
what  d'ye  call  'em,  and  he  would  give  me  in  charge.  Then 
I  begged  from  a  naval  officer — he  never  bothered  me  with 
knots,  but  he  only  gave  me  a  tract ;  there's  a  nice  account 
of  the  British  navy  ! — and  then  from  a  widow  woman  that 
sold  lollipops,  and  I  got  a  hunch  of  bread  from  her.  An- 
other i^arty  I  fell  in  with  said  you  could  generally  always 
get  bread  ;  and  the  thing  to  do  was  to  break  a  plate-glass 
window  and  get  into  jail ;  seemed  rather  a  brilliant  scheme. 
Pass  the  beef.  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  stay  at  Browndean  ?  "  Morris  ventured 
to  inquu'e. 

"  Skittles  !"  said  John.     "On  what?     The  Pink  Cn  and 


THE    RETUIiN    OF    THE    GREAT    VANCE.  235 

a  measly  religious  papei-  ?  I  bad  to  leave  Browndean  ;  I 
had  to,  I  tell  you.  I  got  tick  at  a  public,  and  set  uj)  to 
be  the  Great  Vauce  ;  so  would  you,  if  you  were  leading 
such  a  beastly  existence !  And  a  card  stood  me  a  lot  of 
ale  and  stuff,  and  we  got  swipey,  talking  about  music-halls 
and  the  piles  of  tin  I  got  for  singing  ;  and  then  they  got 
me  on  to  sing  '  Around  her  splendid  form  I  weaved  the 
magic  circle,'  and  then  he  said  I  couldn't  be  Vance,  and  I 
stuck  to  it  like  grim  death  I  was.  It  was  rot  of  me  to 
sing,  of  course,  but  I  thought  I  could  brazen  it  out  with  a 
set  of  yokels.  It  settled  my  hash  at  the  publi(!,"  said  John, 
with  a  sigh.  "  And  then  the  last  thing  wari  r-ue  car- 
penter  " 

"  Our  landlord  ?  "  inquired  Morris. 

"  That's  the  party,"  said  John.  "He  came  nosing  about 
the  place,  and  then  wanted  to  know  where  the  water-butt 
was,  and  the  bed-clothes.  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil ; 
so  would  you  too,  when  there  was  no  possible  thing  to 
say !  And  then  he  said  I  had  pawned  them,  and  did  I 
know  it  was  felony  ?  Then  I  made  a  pretty  neat  stroke. 
I  remembered  he  was  deaf,  and  talked  a  whole  lot  of  rot, 
very  politely,  just  so  low  he  couldn't  hear  a  word.  'I 
don't  hear  you,'  says  he.  '  I  know  you  don't,  my  buck, 
and  I  don't  mean  you  to,'  says  I,  smiling  away  like  a 
haberdasher.  'I'm  hard  of  hearing,' he  roars.  'I'd  be 
in  a  pretty  hot  corner  if  you  weren't,'  says  I,  making 
signs  as  if  I  was  explaining  everything.  It  was  tip-top  as 
long  as  it  lasted.     'Well,'  he  said,  'I'm  deaf,  worse  luck, 


23G  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

but  I  bet  the  constable  can  hear  you,'  And  off  he  started 
one  way,  and  I  the  other.  They  got  a  spirit-lamp,  and 
the  Pink  'Un,  and  that  old  religious  paper,  and  another 
periodical  you  sent  me,  I  think  you  must  have  been 
drunk — it  had  a  name  like  one  of  those  spots  that  Uncle 
Joseph  used  to  hold  forth  at,  and  it  was  all  full  of  the 
most  awful  swipes  about  poetry  and  the  use  of  the  globes. 
It  was  the  kind  of  thing  that  nobody  could  read  out  of  a 
lunatic  asylum.  The  Athceneum,  that  was  the  name ! 
Golly,  what  a  paper ! " 

"  Athenceum,  you  mean,"  said  Morris. 

"  I  don't  cafe  what  you  call  it,"  said  John,  "  so  as  I 
don't  require  to  take  it  in  !  There,  I  feel  better.  Now 
I'm  going  to  sit  by  the  fire  in  the  easy  chair  ;  pass  me  the 
cheese,  and  the  celery,  and  the  bottle  of  jDort — no,  a  cham- 
pagne glass,  it  holds  more.  And  now  you  can  pitch  in, 
there's  some  of  the  fish  left,  and  a  chop,  and  some  fizz. 
Ah,"  sighed  the  refreshed  pedestrian,  "IViichael  was  right 
about  that  port ;  there's  old  and  vatted  for  you  !  Michael's 
a  man  I  like  ;  he's  clever  and  reads  books,  and  the  Athce- 
neum, and  all  that  ;  but  he's  not  dreary  to  meet,  he  don't 
talk  Athceneum  like  the  other  parties  ;  why,  the  most  of 
them  would  throw  a  blight  over  a  skittle  alley  !  Talking  of 
Michael,  I  ain't  bored  myself  to  put  the  question,  because 
of  course  I  knew  it  from  the  first.  You've  made  a  hash  of 
it,  eh?" 

"Michael  made  a  bash  of  it,"  said  Morris,  flushing 
dark. 


THE    RKTUEN    OP    THE    GEEAT    VANCE.  237 

"  What  have  we  got  to  do  with  that  ?  "  inquired  John. 

"He  has  lost  the  body,  that's  what  we  have  to  do  with 
it,"  cried  Morris.  "He  has  lost  the  body,  and  the  death 
can't  be  established." 

"Hold  on,"  said  John.  "I  thought  you  didn't  want 
to?" 

"Oh,  we're  far  past  that,"  said  his  brother.  "It's  not 
the  tontine  now,  it's  the  leather  business,  Johnny  ;  it's 
the  clothes  upon  our  back." 

"Stow  the  slow  music,"  said  John,  "and  tell  your 
story  from  beginning  to  end." 

Morris  did  as  he  was  bid. 

"  Well,  now,  what  did  I  tell  you  ? "  cried  the  Great 
Vance,  when  the  other  had  done.  "  But  I  know  one  thing ; 
I'm  not  going  to  be  humbugged  out  of  my  property." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do,  "said  Mor- 
ris. 

"  I'll  tell  you  that,  "  responded  John,  with  extreme  de- 
cision. "I'm  going  to  put  my  interests  iu  the  hands  of 
the  smartest  lawyer  in  London  ;  and  whether  you  go  to 
quod  or  not  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me." 

"Why,  Johnny,  we're  in  the  same  boat !  "  expostulated 
Morris. 

"  Are  we  ?  "  cried  his  brother.  "I  bet  we're  not !  Have 
I  committed  forgery  ?  have  I  lied  about  Uncle  Joseph  ?  have 
I  put  idiotic  advertisements  in  the  comic  papers?  have 
I  smashed  other  people's  statues  ?  I  like  your  cheek,  Morris 
Finsbm-y.     No,  I've  let  you  run  my  affaii-s  too  long  ;  now 


238  THE    WKONO     UOX. 

they  shall  go  to  Michael.     I  like  Michael,  anyway  ;  and  it's 
time  I  understoocl  my  situation." 

At  this  moment  the  brethi-en  were  inten'upted  by  a 
ring  at  the  bell,  and  Morris  going  timorously  to  the  door, 
received  from  the  hands  of  a  commissionnaire  a  letter  ad- 
dressed in  the  hand  of  Michael.  Its  contents  ran  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  Morris  Finsbury,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye  of,  he  will 
hear  of  Something  to  his  Advantage  at  my  office,  in  Chan- 
cery Lane,  at  10  a.  m.  to-morrow. 

*  "  Michael  Finsbury." 

So  utter  was  Morris's  subjection  that  he  did  not  wait  to 
be  asked,  but  handed  the  note  to  John  as  soon  as  he  had 
glanced  at  it  himself. 

"  That's  the  way  to  write  a  letter,"  cried  John.  "  No- 
body but  Michael  could  have  written  that." 

And  Morris  did  not  even  claim  the  credit  of  priority. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

FINAL  ADJUSTMENT   OF   THE   LEATHEE   BUSINESS. 

Finsbury  brothers  were  ushered,  at  ten  the  next  morn- 
ing, into  a  large  apartment  in  Michael's  ofl&ce  ;  the  Great 
Vance,  somewhat  restored  from  yesterday's  exhaustion, 
but  with  one  foot  in  a  slipper  ;  Morris,  not  positively 
damaged,  but  a  man  ten  years  older  than  he  who  had  left 
Bournemouth  eight  days  before,  his  face  ploughed  full  of 
anxious  wrinkles,  his  dark  hair  liberally  grizzled  at  the 
temples. 

Three  persons  were  seated  at  a  table  to  receive  them  : 
Michael  in  the  midst,  Gideon  Forsyth  at  his  right  hand, 
on  his  left  an  ancient  gentleman  with  spectacles  and  sil- 
ver hair. 

"  By  Jings,  it's  Uncle  Joe  ! "  cried  John. 

But  Morris  approached  his  uncle  with  a  pale  counte- 
nance and  glittering  eyes. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  did!  "he  cried.  "You  ab- 
sconded ! " 

"Good-morning,  Morris  Finsbury,"  returned  Joseph, 
with  no  less  asperity  ;   "you  are  looking  seriously  ill." 

"No    use    making   trouble  now,"    remarked    MichaeL 


240  THE    WKONG    BOX. 

"  Look  the  facts  in  the  face.  Your  uncle,  as  you  see,  was 
not  so  much  as  shaken  in  the  accident ;  a  man  of  your 
humane  disposition  ought  to  be  delighted." 

"Then,  if  that's  so,"  Morris  broke  forth,  "how  about 
the  body?  You  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  thing  I 
schemed  and  sweated  for,  and  colported  with  my  own 
hands,  was  the  body  of  a  total  stranger  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  we  can't  go  as  far  as  that,"  said  Michael,  sooth- 
iuglj  ;  "  you  may  have  met  him  at  the  club." 

Morris  fell  into  a  chair.  "  I  would  have  found  it  out  if 
it  had  come  to  the  house,"  he  complained.  "  And  why 
didn't  it  ?  why  did  it  go  to  Pitman  ?  what  right  had  Pit- 
man to  open  it?  " 

"  If  you  come  to  that,  Morris,  what  have  you  done  with 
the  colossal  Hercules  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

"  He  went  through  it  with  the  meat-axe,"  said  John. 
"  Its  all  in  spillikens  in  the  back  garden." 

"  Well,  there's  one  thing,"  snapped  Morris  ;  "  there's 
my  uncle  again,  my  fraudulent  trustee.  He's  mine,  any- 
way. And  the  tontine,  too.  I  claim  the  tontine  ;  I  claim 
it  now.     I  believe  Uncle  Masterman's  dead." 

"I  must  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsense,"  said  Michael, 
"and  that  forever.  You  say  too  near  the  truth.  In  one 
sense  your  uncle  is  dead,  and  has  been  so  long ;  but  not  in 
the  sense  of  the  tontine,  which  it  is  even  on  the  cards  he 
may  yet  live  to  win.  Uncle  Joseph  saw  him  this  morn- 
ing ;  he  will  tell  you  he  still  lives,  but  his  mind  is  in 
abeyance." 


FINAL    ADJUSTMENT    OF    THE    LEATHER    BUSINESS.    241 

"  He  did  not  know  me,"  said  Joseph ;  to  do  liim  justice^ 
not  without  emotion. 

"  So  you're  out  again  there,  Morris,"  said  John.  "My 
eye,  what  a  fool  you've  made  of  yourself !  " 

"  And  that  was  why  you  wouldn't  compromise,"  said 
Morris. 

"As  for  the  absurd  position  in  which  you  and  Uncle 
Joseph  have  been  making  yourselves  an  exhibition,"  re- 
sumed Michael,  "  it  is  more  than  time  it  came  to  an  end. 
I  have  prepared  a  proper  discharge  in  full,  which  you 
shall  sign  as  a  preliminary." 

"What!"  cried  Morris,  "and  lose  my  seven  thousand 
eight  hundred  pounds,  and  the  leather  business,  and  the 
contingent  interest,  and  get  nothing  ?     Thank  you  !  " 

"  It's  like  you  to  feel  gratitude,  Morris,"  began  Mi- 
chael. 

"Oh,  I  know  it's  no  good  appealing  to  you,  you  sneer- 
ing devil !  "  cried  Morris.  "  But  there's  a  stranger  pres- 
ent, I  can't  think  why,  and  I  appeal  to  him.  I  Avas  robbed 
of  this  money  when  I  was  an  orphan,  a  mere  child,  at  a 
commercial  academv.  Since  then  I've  never  had  a  wish 
but  to  get  back  my  own.  You  may  hear  a~  lot  of  stuff 
about  me  ;  and  there's  no  doubt  at  times  I  have  been  ill- 
advised.  But  it's  the  pathos  of  my  situation  ;  that's  what 
I  want  to  show  you." 

"  Mon-is,"  interrupted  Michael,  "  I  do  wish  you  would  let 

me  add  one  point,  for  I  think  it  will  affect  your  judgment 

It's  pathetic  too — since  that's  your  taste  in  literature." 
16 


242  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Morris. 

"  It's  only  the  name  of  one  of  the  persons  who's  to  wit- 
ness  your  signature,  Morris,"  replied  IVIichael.  "Hia 
name's  Moss,  my  dear." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  "I  might  have  been  sure 
it  was  you !  "  cried  Morris. 

"  You'll  sign,  won't  you  ?  "  said  Michael. 

"Do  you  know  Avhat  you're  doing?"  cried  Morris. 
"  You're  compounding  a  felony," 

"Very  well,  then,  we  won't  compound  it.  Morris,"  re- 
turned Michael.  "  See  how  little  I  understood  the  ster- 
ling integrity  of  your  character  !  I  thought  you  would 
prefer  it  so." 

"  Look  here,  Michael,"  said  John,  "  this  is  all  very  fine 
and  large  ;  but  how  about  me  ?  Morris  is  gone  up,  I  see 
that;  but  I'm  not.  And  I  was  robbed  too,  mind  you; 
and  just  as  much  an  orphan,  and  at  the  blessed  same 
academy  as  himself." 

"Johnnie,"  said  Michael,  "don't  you  think  you'd  better 
leave  it  to  me  ?  " 

"I'm  your  man,"  said  John.  "You  wouldn't  deceive  a 
poor  orphan,  I'll  take  my  oath.  Morris,  you  sign  that 
document,  or  I'll  start  in  and  astonish  your  weak  mind." 

With  a  sudden  alacrity,  Morris  profferred  his  willing- 
ness ;  clerks  were  brought  in  ;  the  discharge  was  executed  ; 
and  there  was  Joseph  a  free  man  once  more. 

"And  now,"  said  Michael,  "hear  what  I  propose  to  do. 
Here,  John  and  Morris,  is  the  leather  business  made  over 


FINAL    ADJUSTMENT   OF    THE    LEATHER    BUSINESS.    243 

to  the  pair  of  you  in  partnership  ;  I  have  valued  it  at  the 
lowest  possible  figure,  Pozram  and  Jenis's.  And  here  is  a 
cheque  for  the  balance  of  your  fortune.  Now  you  see, 
Morris,  you  start  fresh  from  the  Commercial  Academy  ; 
and  as  you  said  yourself  the  leather  business  was  looking 
up,  I  suppose  you'll  probably  marry  before  long.  Here's 
j'our  maiTiage  present ;  from  a  Mr.  Moss." 

Morris  bounded  on  his  check  with  a  crimsoned  coun- 
tenance. 

"I  don't  understand  the  performance,"  remarked  John. 
"It seems  too  good  to  be  true." 

"It's  simply  a  re-adjustment,"  Michael  explained.  "I 
take  up  Uncle  Joseph's  habilities  ;  and  if  he  gets  the  ton- 
tine, it's  to  be  mine.  If  my  father  gets  it,  it's  mine  any- 
way, you  see.     So  that  I'm  rather  advantageously  placed." 

"  Morris,  my  unconverted  friend,  you've  got  left,"  was 
John's  comment. 

"  And  now,  Mi*.  Forsyth,"  resumed  IMichael,  turning  to 
his  silent  guest,  "  here  are  all  the  criminals  before  you,  ex- 
cept Pitman.  I  really  didn't  like  to  interrupt  his  scholas- 
tic career  ;  but  you  can  have  him  arrested  at  the  Semin- 
ary :  I  know  his  hours.  Here  we  are,  then  ;  we're  not 
pretty  to  look  at  ;  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  us  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  returned  Gid- 
eon. "  I  seem  to  understand  that  this  gentleman  " — in- 
dicating Morris — "  is  the /o/is  et  origo  of  the  trouble ;  and 
from  what  I  gather,  he  has  already  paid  through  the  nose. 
And  really,  to  be  quite  frank,  I  do  not  see  who  is  to  gain 


244  THE    WRONG    BOX. 

by  any  scandal ;  not  me,  at  least.  And  besides,  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  that  brief." 

Michael  blushed.  "  It  was  the  least  I  could  do  to  let 
you  have  some  business,"  he  said.  "  But  there's  one  thing 
more.  I  don't  want  you  to  misjudge  poor  Pitman,  who  is 
the  most  harmless  being  upon  earth  ;  I  wish  you  would 
dine  with  me  to-night,  and  see  the  creature  on  his  native 
heath — say,  at  Yerrey's  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  engagement,  Mr.  Finsbur}',"  replied  Gideon. 
"  I  shall  be  delighted.  But — subject  to  your  judgment — 
can  we  do  nothing  for  the  man  in  the  cart  ?  I  have  qualmg 
of  conscience."   ' 

"Nothing  but  sympathize,"  said  Michael. 


THE  WORKS  OF 

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THE   WORKS  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS   STEVENSON 

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THE   WORKS  OF  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

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